Two Sides of the Same Pineapple
by mudstalker
Summary: When a mission goes horribly wrong for Juliet and Lassie, Juliet must deal with the realization that Shawn was faking it all along.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story started out as a rather spirited discussion my friend and I had during season five and this first half of season six. I love this show, but I have been frustrated with it lately. It seems that now that Shawn has gotten his girl, he's regressed back to an almost child-like mentality. I really liked the way they were maturing his character through season four, but then five came along and it seemed to stop. In six, he seems to be regressing. Then, we debated what it would be like when Juliet found out Shawn wasn't psychic. Basically, there are three options. Juliet could get angry and they'd have a fight about it, Juliet would accept it by saying she knew about it all along, or Juliet would never find out. The only real option to me is the first; the second is too much a cop-out and the third is just frustrating. So, out of that I spun this situation. I was figuring I'd do alternating chapters from Juliet and Shawn's point of view. Warning: the story is heavy on introspection, as I am trying for their thoughts. Poor Lassie just got caught in the middle of it all. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Psych, I am just practicing my writing skills.

"_Why_?"

That single word echoed in my head, like a plea that had fallen somewhat flat. The word felt hollow, empty, as if it had once held meaning to me but lost it, and was now the only word on earth I could say. "Why?" It tasted dry and dusty as I managed to whisper it out. I didn't know words could taste. I didn't know a lot of things... until today.

"Why?" The word made me feel cold. In fact, though I live in Santa Barbara and it is warm for most of the year, a clammy chill had seeped into my bones. I felt as though I would never get warm again. All around me were voices, constantly buzzing. There were loud noises; voices that droned on and on, the steady beeping of monitors, the tinny sound of an intercom. Yet none of these words seemed to reach me, and I sat motionless in the small waiting room, pinned against the wall so I could see all exits, like my partner had taught me...

Carlton. Unbidden, the recent memory of the last two hours played in my head. I shoved it away. It took effort, but I was getting better at it. The same thing had happened to me after I was kidnapped and hung from a clock tower... was it really two years ago? At the moment, it seemed like yesterday. Anyway, even after I was rescued, I kept picturing myself hanging above the ground in an electrified chair. It was terrifying... but then my partner had stepped in. After rescuing me, he let me break down. He held me tight; let me cry on his shoulder. Never once did he give me that, "toughen up and deal with it" speech. He just let me be, because he knew that was what I needed. There was a lot more to Carlton Lassiter than anyone in the department ever gave him credit for. I'm proud to have him as a mentor.

I blinked as the room came into complete focus again. Someone, a kind nurse probably, had draped a blanket over my shoulders. I gratefully sunk deeper into it, glad there was no one else in the room. Taking a deep breath, I looked at my phone again.

No messages.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and tried to call Shawn again. Of course I had already tried to call him (twelve times, to be precise. Maybe I'd stop at thirteen just to irritate him. Shawn thought of thirteen as an unlucky number; and goodness knows I couldn't get any unluckier today.). He hadn't answered his phone. Every time, I got the Psych voicemail. This time was no different.

"_Hey, you've reached Psych_" Shawn's voice answered. "_Head Psychic Detective of the SBPD Shawn Spencer and my partner, Emilio Jazzle are out searching the world for amazing new uses for pineapple. Supposedly, there's a woman in Flagstaff Arizona who can make top ramen and pineapple cookies in the shapes of pinwheels... some say they are to die for._" At this point in the message, the voices switched, and I could hear the practical voice of Gus intoning, "_Leave us a message, and we will get back to you._" The phone beeped. I hung up. I couldn't bear to leave another message. When Shawn finally checked his messages, he'd be spooked enough already. And the last thing I needed today was an unstable emotional reaction.

Really, though, I didn't know what to expect from Shawn. After the entire Despereaux disaster, I was frankly a little worried about Shawn. Surely, he'd have to realize that he'd have to deal with death _sometime_. I mean, come on! He'd been shot once, captured almost a dozen times, and almost killed more than many of our seasoned cops in the precinct. Did he expect to live forever?

"No," I reminded myself quietly. "Don't you remember what he told you when you asked him if he was ever frightened? He said he is a psychic, and he knows when he'll get out of a situation just fine." At that moment, a flicker of anger began to smolder in the pit of my stomach. But I was so cold I could barely feel it.

Shawn. Just the mere thought of him made me feel weak in the knees. He is my other half in so many ways... where I am serious he is fun, and where I am stressed he is relaxed. He gets me so completely, and not only that, he knows when I need to be held and when I need to be silent. At first, when I met him, I thought he was fun to flirt with. I thought he was extremely immature, though. I mean, what grown man really keeps a Furby? He was fun to tease... but I was looking for a man, not a boy.

Then Abigail came along. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't hate the woman (like so many of my acquaintances expect me to). In fact, I'm grateful to her. She opened up the side of Shawn that even I couldn't see, the side of Shawn that made him a grown, mature man. He cared for her, and showed he could be a man when called to be... and when all was said and done, he put her above all others, even me. When she left him, I was secretly thrilled. Shawn had changed from some boy with supernatural gifts to a man with amazing powers. Really, who could resist?

But ever since we began dating, Shawn has seemed... distant, somehow. Regressive. As if... as if the thought of life forever with me seems frightening, even ugly. I'll admit I'm not ready to settle down just yet, but I would like to settle down one day. And I just can't keep from wondering... will Shawn _ever_ be ready to settle down?

That depressing train of thought coupled with my annoyance that Shawn hadn't called me back yet, as once again my cell phone brought me back to reality. For a moment, I had been in another time with Shawn... on a bridge in the mist, in the air in a balloon, anywhere but this terrible cold empty place. The whisper of comfort those memories brought me faded like fog on a shower door, and once again I was in a hospital waiting room, waiting for news of my partner.

Another couple of hours passed. No word from Shawn or Gus. No word about my partner. The Chief had been by; so had Henry. They had tried to get me to leave, to at least change into some different clothes, but I refused to go until I had word of my partner. Henry settled into a chair next to me while the Chief went to go file paperwork and make statements. The press was already upon us.

Henry didn't say a word, he just offered me his shoulder as a pillow. I leaned over on him, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable in those terrible torture devices they had the nerve to call chairs. I finally stopped squirming. From a long way off, Henry was apologizing for Shawn's absence, but I didn't really listen. The flicker of annoyance and anger I had felt before began to grow... you see, there was something I had missed. Something I _should _have seen, being a detective. Something I had already thought of. My brain hurt with the effort to remember. My eyes slid shut, and against my will, I began to dream.

_"O'Hara, when against my better judgment I said I'd let your boyfriend plan this stakeout... I meant that we'd be sitting comfortably and safely in a bullet proof car listening to Talk Radio or Johnny Cash... not standing out on the cold windy beach running a snack cart. I mean, come on! Who buys churros and cotton-candy in the middle of winter?"_

_"Carlton," I sighed. "Come on, when has Shawn been wrong?" At my partner's dubious look, I rolled my eyes. "I mean, about important things. When has he ever led us to a stakeout that revealed nothing?"_

_"Oh, I don't know... maybe three, four times. Just that I can count off my head. And where is that little twerp-duo of yours, anyway? Usually, we can't get them to leave."_

_"The Chief banned them from being here, Carlton. This is a dangerous situation; we are observing a drug drop. It's too dangerous for them."_

_"Huh," Lassiter huffed, "when has that ever stopped them before?"_

_I rolled my eyes and didn't say a word. Shawn said that in his vision he saw the smugglers come here, to this fairly innocent looking park by the beach. He had set up our stakeout situation perfectly; a snack cart was never out of place by the waves, and we had a full view of the parking lot. Several backup units were in the wings; this would be Shawn's best case yet. I felt a fierce pride for him, coupled with a complete sense of security. After all, Shawn was psychic. If there was going to be any danger in the bust, he would have warned me first._

_His vision had left no room for doubt. "I'm having a vision," he'd cried out at the station, causing my partner to groan and the Chief to absentmindedly pull her hair. "I'm seeing pink... pink, pink? What's wrong with pink? Seems to me... ow! (here, Gus had elbowed Shawn. Shawn retaliated by flicking him back in the face, and I had had to intervene with a throat clearing and a well-placed glare). _

_"Not only pink," continued Shawn, "but it's sugary as well... and salty! But wait, the salt is in the air... park... shore... shore, I'd like some ocean, how about you?"_

_"Shoreline Park!" I had called out. "Right on the beach, where they have that cotton-candy refreshment stand."_

_Shawn beamed at me. "Yep, that's my gal!"_

_The Chief rolled her eyes. Why she hadn't spoken to us about our dating and working together yet I'd never know... maybe she just didn't believe it. At any rate, she took over the conversation with a no-nonsense tone that I envy greatly. "Okay, the park is where they are making the drop then. Mr. Spencer, can you see anything else... how many people are there?"_

_Shawn squinted as he looked into the future. "Two, maybe four. They won't want to take any chances with large numbers; if they are getting desperate enough to move shipments by day, they won't want to attract attention."_

_The Chief nodded. "Alright," she stated. "I need three teams surrounding the park and a fourth to play random tourists on the beach... McNabb, get some barricades set up. Lassiter, O'Hara, you'll be taking point on this. You'll wait for the drop and then, only then, move in. Got that?"_

_Shawn had jumped up then, shouting out, "Chief! If everyone is going undercover, Lassie and Jules should go too. And I have the perfect cover for them..."_

_Carlton growled. "Why do we even listen to this bozo? Since when has Shawn ever managed to hide in the background; he knows nothing about undercover!"_

_Apparently though, the Chief had loved Shawn's idea. Which had transformed Carlton and me from detectives to snack-cart attendees. However, Shawn had also been duly banned from the bust by Chief Vick, who had threatened him with a penalty fee if he even tried to step in. Shawn may not have cared about the money that much, but Gus sure did. The last I knew, Shawn and Gus were headed for the movies._

_"Perps spotted," Carlton stated quietly into the walkie. "Looks like four of them."_

_"Spencer was right on the money," the Chief replied. "Are they headed towards the parking lot?"_

_Carlton frowned. "Negative. They are just standing there, looking around. Chief... this doesn't make sense. This is supposed to be a drop and go... not a convention. Unless..."_

_"They are waiting for someone else," I finished uneasily._

_At that moment, all hell had broken loose._

_The next thing I knew, my gun was drawn and I was using the snack cart as an ill-suited bullet proof shield. Carlton was cursing beside me, watching as the four gang members with their backpack of drugs were tackled by a rival group of thugs. When the bullets began to fly, all of our backup dropped in, and we found ourselves cut off from the rest of the force. There was no way we could get to the relative safety of the barricades... we were trapped in between the ocean and the gang members. I risked one look down the beach and saw that Buzz McNab and the team that was with him playing Random Tourists had taken cover behind the concrete beach bathrooms. Only Carlton and I were left in the open._

_"I count twelve now," growled Carlton into the walkie," though I believe the newer members finished off the original four."_

_"DO NOT ENGAGE!" Chief Vick commanded. "Carlton, don't even think about being a hero!"_

_"Wasn't planning on it!" he screamed back, and the two of us cowered behind the snack stand trapped like rats while bullets flew around us. And then, the unthinkable happened._

_Carlton must have seen him coming in the reflection on the silver metal of the snack cart. One gang member had held himself back, whether he was late or backup I was never to know. Suddenly, before I even knew what was going on, Carlton whirled around, shooting rounds out of his pistol like a Mission Impossible agent while simultaneously colliding into me. It all happened so fast; I couldn't really see what was going on. A few surreal seconds passed while I tried to get my bearings, and I wondered why Carlton was a dead weight on top of me. I wriggled out from under him while keeping panicked eyes on the fallen lone gunman... he would never move again. Carlton was a good shot._

_"Carlton!" I cried as I realized that his body was still pinning my legs. I yanked them out savagely and practically pounced on Carlton. A fountain of blood was spurting up through his chest, and his skin was terribly pale. I removed my jacket and pressed it on his wound, all the while willing the guns to cease. I stared into my partner's face and smiled what I hoped was an encouraging smile. "Carlton, you're going to be okay," I stated, more for my benefit than for his. _

_Carlton gave me a weak smile. "No worries, O'Hara, it doesn't even hurt," he wheezed. Then, his eye slid shut, and life became an everlasting period waiting while the shooting died out. I believe I lived a lifetime in those five minutes. Then, everything became a blur as we were surrounded by paramedics, cops, and reporters... Shawn should have seen this coming. If he was psychic, he should have know this was going to happen. He had seen this vision so clearly! He lied to me. _It was then that I jolted awake.

A doctor had stepped into the waiting room. "Finally," I thought, "Some answers!" In reality, I was too wound up to form words. I stood instead, locking eyes with the doctor and standing up straight. Henry stood as well. The doc eyed both of us for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Your friend is one tough cookie," the doctor said. "To my dying day I'll remember this patient as a perfect example of luck. Your partner took two shots to the chest; one went right through the chest cavity and chipped a rib, and the other collapsed a lung. We had to re-inflate the lung and remove the bullet, then remove the piece of chipped rib; it had come dangerously close to imbedding into his heart. He's in intensive care now."

I took a great sigh of relief, almost afraid to believe it. "Then he will be alright?" I asked.

The doc frowned. "Well, he's not out of the woods yet. He lost a very large amount of blood; unfortunately, our hospital is rather low on O- at the moment. It is not a very common blood type. We're having some brought in; it should be here shortly. But... he has suffered a lot. If he can pull through tonight, I believe he'll make it."

I nodded and let that sink in while Henry questioned the doctor about more particulars. When he was finished, I asked the doctor if I could see Carlton.

"Perhaps later," the doctor replied. "Right now, he needs to rest."

Henry looked at me and sighed. "Juliet, you should really go home and get some rest. Come on, I'll drive you."

I was about to reply when Shawn and Gus burst into the waiting room at full speed (they narrowly missed colliding with the exiting doctor). Shawn stopped stock-still by the door, and Gus visibly paled.

I knew I looked a sight. I had Carlton's blood all over my clothes. I had had it all over my arms as well, but I had cleaned up as best as I could when Carlton was first brought in.

"Jules?" Shawn's voice sounded small, frightened. He paused for a second, then came across the room and wrapped me into a big Shawn bear hug. I was mildly surprised; but the gesture did little to comfort me. The truth that had sprung up in my mind during my restless catnap seemed to taunt me now. "_He lied to you; he's not a psychic. He would have known this was going to happen if he was_."

"Is that blood?" asked Gus when Shawn and I pulled apart.

"No, it's ketchup. Of course it's blood!" I snarled back. I immediately reprimanded myself silently; it wasn't Gus's fault that everything had gone down the way it did. But now my feelings had shifted. What had once been an empty dullness inside me had built into a raging inferno as I realized the truth about my relationship with Shawn. I turned to look at him; fire was burning in my eyes.

Shawn saw my expression and flinched. He had not been expecting this! "Jules," he stammered, "we didn't get your call till half an hour ago, and we were really far away. On the other side of Santa Barbara, to be precise. I hadn't realized I had turned my phone off, and..."

I waited for his apology to die out. Then, in a voice I had never heard myself use before, I asked, "Why did you lie to me?"

Shawn apparently didn't understand. "I'm not lying. We really were on the other side of Santa Barbara, in the Blueberry. Tell her Gus!"

"Not about that," I confirmed. "Tell me why you lied to me, to everyone, about being a psychic?"

_Now_ Shawn paled. I could see the blood drain from his face as well. He looked pleadingly at Gus, then at his father. But Henry just shook his head sadly, grabbed Gus's arm, and pulled him out of the door. We were alone.

"Tell me why," I demanded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Whoa, this was like, the world's slowest update. I'm so sorry; I forgot about this story because the year has been so chaotic, and Roselillypotterevens's timely review brought me right back to it. So, I had trouble figuring out what Shawn would really do. Season seven's been no help; it's funny, but kind of over-the-top. I mean, Psych is normally over the top, but it seems crazier than usual. So, I kind of brought Shawn back down to earth a little. This is turning out to be a rather dark story, and I'm giving Shawn a bit more to his shady past... so not exactly canon. We'll see where it goes from here.

**Disclaimer: **They make me laugh, but I don't own them.

_Shawn's POV_

I stared at Jules, unsure of what to say. Dreading what I _would_ say. Her beautiful blue eyes, usually so serene, had become giant vortexes of ice that were pulling me down... I was afraid I'd drown. Or freeze.

I looked over my shoulder towards the door where my dad and my best friend had exited quietly. I wished I were with them. I'd be safe then. Here, there was no safety. I took a deep breath and looked once again into my girlfriend's eyes. What could I answer her?

"To keep me out of jail," I found myself saying.

Puzzlement flashed across Juliet's eyes, though she lost none of her intensity. "Explain," she demanded.

I took another deep breath to calm my nerves, and in that moment my tale-telling face slid into place. I looked up at her with my mouth twisted into a wry grin, prepared to laugh everything off. But the story I was about to tell died on my lips as I saw another layer of emotion cross Juliet's face; it was one of extreme sorrow. So I sighed one last time and began my _real _story.

"Jules, when I was a kid, my dad made me study and observe people every day. Not just observe, he made me study them, break them apart, look at their lives to find the bare bones truth; I mean Jules, those people and their lives were as plain to see as a cadaver on Woody's autopsy table!"

Juliet frowned, but said in a voice more like her own, "That's a strange metaphor."

I blinked. "When have I ever chosen a normal one?"

"Good point. Continue," Juliet commanded.

I closed my eyes and tried to go on. "My father was very demanding... I was on an intense course to become a detective. Jules, he'd literally lock me up in the trunk of a car so I could learn how to break out! He'd tie me up and make me cut myself loose from the ropes! Once, he even kept me in the basement for two days with the windows covered so that I'd learn how to keep track of time when there was no light! He was so strict, Jules, I hated it!"

Juliet nodded, but I could see that what I said wasn't enough. I gave a gulp; I wasn't good at this opening up thing. My father had taught me to be invulnerable, and I am invulnerable. I've traveled around the world, seen so many amazing sights, and stored up everything inside me, like a private amusement park. Letting her actually know what was inside me... especially when I didn't even like it...

But then I looked at Juliet, closer than I have ever looked at anyone. I love her more than anything. If I didn't come clean, I knew that I'd loose her forever. All my humor was gone. For the first time in probably my life, I wasn't smirking, wasn't smiling. For the first time, I was being completely honest.

"Jules, I'll tell you the absolute truth, but you have to promise not to hate me." I hated the way that came out all squeaky.

Jules glared at me, the hardness back in her eyes. "This is not a plea-bargain, Shawn," she growled.

I nodded, took one more deep breath, and continued in a voice no louder than a whisper. "When I left for college, I had some hard times. Does it surprise you I went to college? I went for a year as a freshman. More like a semester... I don't really mention it. Ever. My dad wanted me to study criminology, and even though I slacked off in high school I did get a perfect 100 on the detective's exam when I was fifteen and so I decided to go for it. My first semester of classes, I had criminal psychology."

"Jules, I got into the minds of those people. The case studies we had to study, the serial killers, murderers, rapists, and every other crime-committer you can imagine began to invade my head. I had been trained to be a detective so long, but now I was discovering why people committed crimes, and I understood them! I felt their needs, the criminal's wants, what they did and how they did it. How they perceived life should be. And after time, I began to like it. I began to wonder what it would be like to commit a crime of my own..."

"Now, Gus is my best friend. But he did not come with me to college, and so I made friends with this other dude named Anthony. One day, in October, he was hit by a drunk driver coming back from his job. Anthony was a real straight-laced guy, kind of like Gus, which is why we got along because I was so laid back. And when I heard that he died, something in me snapped. I tracked down the drunk driver; I used my observation skills I had honed my whole life and found the jerk in a day. The police would have probably never found him! He was holed up in some shack in the woods; it took me an hour to hike up there. I don't even remember the walk fully; all I know was that I walked through so many bushes and brambles I was scratched and bleeding all over the place (I was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt). I didn't even notice the scratches then. And when I got to the door of the shack, I broke into the front door and confronted him. No, I... tortured him. He was drunk when I broke into his house, and he since he hit Anthony in the middle of the night and hadn't really seen him, he thought I was Anthony's ghost."

I stopped there for a moment, getting ready for my next part. The bad part. The one that haunts me in my dreams. I couldn't bear to look at Jules's face; I turned and looked at the one picture hanging in that waiting room, a stock poster of a peaceful cabin in the woods. "That figures," I thought with a smirk. But then I cleared my throat, I had to go on.

"I rolled with it. I pretended to be Anthony's ghost. I screamed at the man, yelling, "Why did you kill me, why did you murder me!" The man was terrified, freaking out; I can't really remember every word he said perfectly because basically the whole time I was screaming at him. I had blood all over my arms from the scratches in the woods, and goodness knows I looked like a vengeful wraith with my screaming and raging anger. And then, the man, well... he just died. Right then and there. He slumped forward, and... just sort of deflated, if that makes any sense. I didn't touch him, Jules, I swear I didn't; he died from a massive heart attack. But... in a way, Jules, I killed him. I frightened him to death. And so, I quit college as soon as I could. I was determined never to go there again... ever. To that place in my mind where I got glee out of terrorizing a human being."

"I traveled the world. Took odd jobs. Lived solely for my own happiness, and forgot everything else. From time to time, the event would come back to me in nightmares, but I ran from them. Just as much as I ran from my father, and Gus, and everything that reminded me of... me. And when I finally came back to Santa Barbara, I was carefree, fun, and happy. But I was also broke."

"I needed money, so I called on the tips hotline and claimed the bounty rewards. But I got careless, and Lassie found out about me. He thought I was the ringleader of some gang, and I was stuck. I had two choices, either a falsely deserved jail sentence or a gig as the Santa Barbara Head Psychic. And so I took that."

I looked at Jules then, expecting to see... something on her face. But her face was expressionless, like it was made of stone. I tried my old familiar smirk and laugh; it felt odd on my face. I felt hollow inside. My deepest, darkest secret, the one nobody but myself ever knew (not even my dad or Gus), was out in the open for Jules to examine. The silence was deafening. Finally, I looked at her and attempted to break the silence. "Well, that was without a doubt the most serious conversation I've ever had," I said overly loud.

Jules looked at me, her eyes filled with something I didn't understand. But then she took a breath and spoke. "Shawn, you didn't kill that man. His conscience did. His conscience was probably assisted by the large quantity of alcohol he ingested; you don't really know how much he had, and he probably drank himself to death. The worst you are guilty of there is breaking and entering, and caring about your friend."

I stared at her dumbfounded. She didn't hate me for what I did? In fact, she seemed to not really care that much. How did I get so lucky to have a girl like her, to have a girl so full of mercy? I turned and reached my arms out to her, but she crossed her own arms over her chest and stood stock-still. She wasn't done yet.

"That being said, Shawn, there were more than two choices when Lassiter brought you in. You forgot the third choice, the best choice. You could have told the truth."

I rolled my eyes. "But that wouldn't have worked! I wouldn't have gotten paid! Sure, I'd be kept out of jail, but I'd never be allowed to solve crimes again without going through detective school. The psychic thing was a perfect fit; I could solve crimes and make money at the same time!"

"Since when have you ever cared about money, Shawn?" asked Juliet flatly.

I shrugged. "Maybe I have hidden depths you don't know about," I said, trying to blow her off, "you know, Gus has been teaching me for years how to balance a checkbook and I almost think I've got it..." The stare on Juliet's face made me loose my cool again. So, finally, I told the truth. "I was bored."

"You were _bored_?" queried Juliet sarcastically.

"Yes. I was tired of never belonging anywhere, but I didn't want a job that would make me think too much, and I wanted the ease of being around people who know me and love me. So, I came home. And with Gus working and my dad wanting to make something out of me, I was bored, and so... I became a psychic. And life certainly got a lot more fun!"

"_Fun_?" spat Juliet. "Boredom?! Fun! Shawn, Lassiter is near death right now, might even still die, and you are talking about fun? FUN?! You LIED Shawn, you lied to us. You manipulated all of the SBPD into believing your stories, and as a result of this one of our own is _dying_ right now!"

I started, angry at her outburst. "Hey, I solved cases! I brought murderers to justice! Much more so than the SBPD ever could. How _sad_ is that?"

Jules fumed. "This is not a one-upper, Shawn. Your drugs drop turned into an all out gang war and Carlton got caught in the crossfire. It had nothing to do with your 'vision'. You had no idea what you were really doing, and you put everyone in danger. You put Buzz in danger. You put Carlton in danger. You put _me_ in danger! Shawn, Carlton got shot saving _my_ _life_. He took a bullet meant for _me_!"

I felt like all the blood froze in my veins. I had had no idea... my heart felt like it was stopping. I stared at my girlfriend standing there, pale and shaking with rage, in a blouse covered in Lassie's blood. And then I knew what it was like to be on the other side, to be on the side of the drunk driver I had killed, seeing an enraged human crying out for vengeance. _My_ actions had caused this. Somewhere, somehow, I had become responsible without knowing it, and _I_ was guilty. I couldn't breathe, couldn't feel, couldn't think. I just mindlessly ran from the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: So, poor Jules. I wonder what will happen with Shawn...

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Now you know the truth.

_Juliet's POV_

I watched Shawn run out the door, and after he was out of sight the wave of fierce anger I had felt boiling up inside of me seemed to sizzle out. After a few minutes, I felt cold, numb, and exhausted. Henry returned alone a few moments later and beckoned me to come. I followed him out of the hospital, surprised to find it was dark. The long day had apparently ended. In silence, I climbed up into the passenger side of Henry's truck, trying not to think about how awkward the situation was. I needn't have been worried; Henry seemed fairly angry at Shawn himself. He kept muttering as he drove, "he always does this, always runs whenever there's a problem." I wondered if Shawn had run away for good.

You'd think at this point that I'd be an emotional wreck, but I wasn't. I didn't feel much of anything at all. When we got to my apartment, I mumbled a thank you and walked up to the door on autopilot. Somewhere in my mind it registered that some kind soul (most probably Buzz) had driven my car home from the station for me. I entered my apartment, took a steaming shower I barely felt, mechanically pulled on my pajamas and climbed into bed. I lay on my side, looking out the window where the streetlights vaguely reminded me of stars, and waited for sleep to come.

Whether I slept or not was a mystery to me. The night seemed interminable, and when the sun finally rose I found myself lying in the exact same position. I got up fairly quickly; I wanted to get back to the hospital as soon as possible and see how my partner fared. I got dressed in a hurry in jeans and a casual blouse, threw on some sneakers, and forced a piece of toast that tasted as dry as sandpaper down my throat. Then, I searched my apartment for my keys (which I finally found on my coffee table with a note from Buzz telling me to take it easy). I hurried outside to my car and drove off towards the hospital, not even bothering to check and see if Shawn had texted or called me on my phone. I was still enraged at him, and I was not ready to try and handle the situation.

Once I got into the hospital, I signed in and headed up to ICU. My heart lurched, though, as I rounded the corner and entered the ward. Chief Vick was here, and the look on her face did not look good.

I wasted no time. "Chief, how's Carlton?"

Chief Vick looked at me, something close to pity was in her eyes. "O'Hara, sit down for a moment," she said, indicating a row of chairs in the hall.

"I'll stand, thanks," I said brusquely, irked that she thought I couldn't handle the news she had for me. The Chief looked me over with an assessing eye, then sighed. "O'Hara, I have some bad news."

My legs shook. I locked them into place and willed my heart to beat normally. "Is Carlton... " I could hardly bear to say the word dead, and my sentence trailed off.

The Chief shook her head. "He's still alive, but he's in worse shape. He developed an infection last night in his wound, and his body's got that to deal with as well as blood loss and the injury itself."

I frowned. "It's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud! How could Carlton have gotten an infection?"

The Chief flashed me a wry, humorless smile. "Well, apparently a snack shack on the beach is not a sanitary place to get shot. The doctors have been giving him some pretty heavy antibiotics, but his fever is still really high."

"Did you see him?" I asked.

The Chief nodded. "Yes."

"Can I? Please Chief, I really need to see him for myself; I have something to tell him."

"O'Hara," the Chief began, sounding impatient and a little patronizing. But Chief Vick must have caught some look on my face, because she sighed and said softly, "I wondered whether putting you and Carlton together was a good idea. You were _such_ a rookie, and he was a hardened grizzled cop... and yet you balanced each other out. You still do."

She paused for a moment, then said, "I'll speak to the doctor for you and have him give you access. He'll probably only let you in for a few minutes, so make the most of them. Someone has to go in there and tell Carlton to get his butt in gear!"

About twenty minutes later I was allowed to slip into the closed-off curtains around Carlton's bed. IVs and other monitoring equipment were hooked up everywhere, setting off a symphony of quiet yet discordant beeps. Tubing and other wires snaked around Carlton's slender body; my partner looked so much smaller lying there in a cold white room. His skin had a grayish hue, but was hot to the touch; I clenched his hand in mine. It was unnerving seeing no reaction at all. Carlton generally disliked physical touch (unless he was getting to throttle someone), yet often I would ignore his four-foot body bubble and touch is arm or shoulder just the same. He would always inch away, yet he was too much of a gentleman to complain most times. Now, he didn't even move at all. His face was the most disturbing; usually, he always had a watchful yet arrogant look. Now, he had no expression at all. I wondered if he were even in there still.

"Carlton," I tried, my voice coming out in an irritating squeak. "Carlton," I tried again, this time stronger, "the doctors are doing the best they can. You've got the best antibiotics, but now you have to fight. I know you're a fighter, Lassiter, and you can do this!"

I sat there for a moment, my unconvincing battle speech failing to move the still gray form on the sheets. "Please, Carlton," I whispered. "You're my best friend, and I need you to pull through. It's not okay for you to go yet; we still have so much to do..."

I found that I couldn't continue my speech. Tears sprang up into my eyes, and my stomach rolled. I quickly but quietly bolted for the door to the ICU and raced into an empty waiting room, where I knelt down in front of a chair and used the seat to muffle my violent sobs.

After a while, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Glancing up, not caring that my face was tearstained and probably looked terrible, I saw the last person in the world I expected to see.

"Gus?" I muttered in confusion. Gus gave me a ghost of a smile and said, "Juliet, let's go get some waffles."

The absurdity of this statement hit me harder than it should have, and I started giggling. "What, now?"

"No better time for it," Gus said with certainty. "Besides, you can use a break."

Of all the things that could happen now, I never imagined that Gus would reach out to me. Above all, Gus was Shawn's friend first, and he was intensely loyal. I am his friend through Shawn, but not really his friend, if that makes any sense.

Yet, here I was at Sam's Waffle Iron, trying to eat a strawberry Belgian waffle while Gus was sitting across from me, scarfing down a pineapple waffle. I pushed the strawberries around in the whip cream slowly, watching the cream melt and turn pink with the juice. The color brought back the memory of me trying to keep Lassiter from bleeding to death, and I hastily put down my fork and pushed the plate away.

"Trouble?" asked Gus.

"Memories," I said softly.

Gus nodded and put down his fork as well. "I understand," he said gently. "I mean, if it were Shawn laying there, shot up like that, I'd be a basket case too."

The comment, though kindly meant, grated on me. "Don't you think if it were Shawn I'd be sad too?" I lashed out.

Gus's eyes widened, then he shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way Juliet. I just meant... well... if you think about it, you're Lassiter's partner, and I'd say the best friend he has. And what I meant was, that if it was my best friend lying there, I'd be having a hard time."

I nodded. "Sorry," I sighed sadly. "I _am_ being a basket-case." Then, after a moment, I asked, "Gus, have you heard from Shawn?"

Gus looked surprised. "Juliet, Shawn left town this morning. He said he sent you a text; didn't you get it?"

I blinked, remembering my blatant refusal to look at my phone this morning. Hurriedly, I took it out, and saw I had one message waiting.

"_You deserve better_," the message read.

I read and reread the message in disbelief, then I slowly put the phone away. I stood up suddenly, wanting to bolt away from this chaos that my life had now become. Gus rose too, looking concerned. He kept asking me questions, and once I heard him say my name, but the ringing in my ears was too loud to hear anything else over. I walked on wooden legs out the door while Gus followed me out, frantically paying the restaurant bill in the process. Once I got outside, I was hoping to feel better. However, Shawn's text message, my sleepless night, having really nothing in my stomach, and the fact that my best friend was now lying fighting for his life all caught up with me, and I collapsed halfway to Gus's car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **And the spirited discussion continues! The three choices Shawn has later are the results of me polling my various friends. But I chose the choice I thought would have been the best for Shawn. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters in Psych, but I do love pineapple!

_Shawn's POV_

When I finally stopped running, I realized that it was nightfall and I was nearing my dad's house. The lights were on inside; my dad must have taken Juliet home already and was still up. Yet, I didn't want to go inside. Quietly, I snuck around back and unlatched the door to the garden shed. Hidden inside was my dad's emergency grab bag, filled with clothes, money, and more beef jerky than was probably necessary. I dumped out the bag and repacked the jerky and the money; I'd stop by the Psych office and grab some of my clothes I had stored there. Quickly, I overturned a heavy garden pot and threw all the clothes inside, covering the rim with a board when everything was in. Hopefully, my father wouldn't notice the change for a while (though I highly doubted that; my hopes were more hinged on the weather, as there was not too much to do this time of the year in gardening).

Walking back to the Psych office seemed to take forever, but when I finally got there I threw as many clothes and personal items as I could find into the bag. When it was full, I zipped it up, carried it outside to where my motorcycle was parked, and strapped it onto the bike.

"You leaving?"

The words startled me, making me jump. I let out something between a yelp and a scream before I realized that Gus had spoken. I had not expected Gus would be here at this time of night; I turned and looked at him warily. He was standing on the doorstep of the Psych office in his fire-truck pajamas, holding a strong flashlight and looking tired. The pain in his eyes as he comprehended what was going on cut me to the bone, and I snarled back a reply.

"There's no reason for me to stay."

Gus growled. "There's plenty of reasons! What about Juliet? What about your dad? And what about me?! I'm a reason, Shawn! You left once, what will I do if you leave again?!"

I shrugged. "I don't know, find a nice girl, settle down, get married. Live a normal life."

Gus frowned. "What about you? What about your normal life? Shawn, what _about _Juliet? Have you even _thought_ what this is going to do to her?"

"She's better off without me," I replied harshly. "Gus, I almost got her shot today! Instead, Lassie wound up being the big hero and he's probably going to pay for it with his life. Let's face it, Gus, I'm really nothing. I've been a liar all along, to my friends, my boss, my family, and to myself. I missed the signs on this case, and that miss has caused a lot of trouble!"

"Everyone messes up, Shawn," my friend stated matter-of-factly. "How you deal with that is what makes you a boy or a man."

"_A boy or a man? _Have you been hanging out more with Lassie lately?"

"Well, we do dance on occasion."

I rolled my eyes. "Gus, I'd love to stay and chit-chat, but I really have to be going, so..."

Gus snorted. "Where will you go? This is your home!"

"No it isn't!" I shouted. "Really, do you think I can live here while Jules hates me and I've let everyone else down? Gus, I'm pathetic. All that I own is strapped to my bike, and half of it was stolen from my dad. I'm worthless, Gus!"

"Not to me!" Gus shouted. I stopped, stock still, as Gus slowly inched closer. "You think I don't understand, you think I don't know you? Shawn, I'm your best friend! I know you inside and out. I know you feel like you have to fly, I know you feel like you have to run, but _listen to me_. Out there, you will never be happy. You will never make another friend like me, never get another girl like Jules, never be with people who consider you family. And speaking of family, what will your dad do? The last time you left, it tore him apart. You both have come so far; you've earned his respect, and you've always had his love. Are you going to throw all that away?"

Gus frightened me. I'd never before seen such an earnest look on his face, such a conviction in his voice. "What if I'm really not who you think I am?" I said quietly. "What if all I am is a loser who uses people then dumps them when he's had enough?"

"I _refuse_ to believe that," Gus stated.

I stood there for a moment. A long moment. Then, I strapped my helmet on and straddled my bike. "I need to leave town for a few days; there's something I've got to do," I said. "Tell Juliet... tell Juliet I'll text her, okay?"

Gus's eyes narrowed. "You coming back?"

"I hope so," I said, then I revved up my engine. With a nod for goodbye, I steered my motorcycle to the street and took off down the road, heading east in the direction of the rising sun. I didn't once look back.

I only headed east for a half hour though, until I hit the 101 (it took a half hour because I have to deal with weaving through horrendous traffic). Then, it was north for about four and a half hours. I made one pit stop a couple hours in, and during that time I sent Jules a text. "_You deserve better_." Just that, no emoticons, no nothing. It was as if there was nothing else to say, just the truth.

I got into San Jose at around ten in the morning. I stopped for a waffle at IHOP, but I couldn't force it down. It tasted dry and prickly to me, and I have a distaste for pointy things. Especially when they keep getting stuck in my throat.

Next, I passed the turn off for San Jose State University. I thought about pausing there for a moment, maybe reliving some of my fun brief college experience, but the errand I was on drew me like a magnet, and I continued towards the regional preserve. A couple of hours later, after bouncing over several rutted logging roads, I came to the exit I was most dreading. The small dirt road that led off the logging road in the direction of the Calaveras Reservoir; the road that held the shack.

It was smaller than I remembered it, but it still looked old and rickety. I parked my bike and climbed off slowly. The afternoon sun was slanting through the evergreens, but it was bitterly cold up here in the high country, and I felt no warmth from it. "Hello raccoons," I called out warily. "I'm here, just going to go into this creepy shack, so don't feel like you have to sink your teeth into me." I let my voice trail off and waited. I heard no sound, either from the raccoons (though I doubted they'd answer) or from the shack. I walked up to it, my feet crunching on gravel and patches of old icy snow.

"Hello?" I asked quietly. I wished right then that Gus was with me, but no. I know he'd have come with me if I'd asked him, but I had to do this alone.

"Sometimes," I said aloud in a western drawl as I slowly walked up to the shack, "a man has to face his fears."

Who was I kidding? I turned around to run again, but stopped in my tracks. Something was glinting from the window of the shack. I stood still for a moment, wondering if it was someone looking at me, but the glint was of a metallic kind. Curiosity got the better of me, and I cautiously turned back around and climbed onto the front porch. The boards creaked, and the wind rustled the trees. I reached out an experimental hand and pushed on the door. It swung open.

I looked around the shack. Everything was how I remembered it; it looked as if the police had hardly touched anything. I doubted a "thorough" investigation had ever taken place. Lassie would be furious.

"Lassie!" I thought as I examined the shack's sparse furnishings. "I have no idea how he's doing! I never even thought once to ask Jules how my friend... (enemy? girlfriend's cop partner?) ...is doing."

I pondered over Lassie's label, then finally settled on "frienemy." I then pondered on how my frienemy was doing. Jules had said he was near death, that he had been shot. I'd been shot once. I remembered how painful that was, the hot searing bullet burning it's way into my shoulder. I could barely stand it. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like taking two hits to the chest. "Let's hope I never have to," I whispered to no one in particular.

The sunlight was slanting through the window in a longer strip now; I wondered how long I just stood there. On the windowsill, or what passed for a windowsill, there was still a glinting object. "What is that?" I asked, and I shuffled forward.

It was a picture. More or less, it was a picture in a damaged, metal frame. It had been the gold paint that had been glinting in the sun. I blew the dust off the portrait; no one had done that in a while. The picture was one of a man (I recognized him as the man I scared to death so many years ago) holding a woman next to him, and what looked like their daughter. I set the picture down almost reverently, but the stand broke and the picture crashed to the floor. The glass broke as well, and I carefully extracted the photo. I noticed, with some surprise, that there was something else behind the photo; a paper, folded into a tight square. Squinting in confusion, I pulled that out as well and opened it. It was a letter.

I moved to a dusty chair and sat down for a while, holding the letter in my hands. I wasn't sure if I wanted to read it, but finally my curiosity took over and I opened it up.

"_Dear Greg_," I read, "_you will never know how much it hurts me to write this letter. Greg, I will always love you. I pledged that on the day of our marriage, and I truly meant it. I will always treasure every day we spent together, will always remember them. Most often, I will be pining for them and for you. Yet, Greg, I cannot live in the past as you do. Ever since our daughter died, you've become a changed man. You are constantly drinking, and drinking won't bring her back, Greg. Savannah wouldn't have wanted you to do this to yourself. I've tried everything with you; counseling, hiding the liquor, pleading with you, the works. Don't you think I miss our daughter? Don't you think I need you too; I need your help, need you to hold me and comfort me. Please Greg, I know you're going up to the cabin this weekend. Remember what the doctor said; too much drinking and your liver will shut down. Please consider what you will do next, because you have to make a choice, Greg. Me or the past. Because I will not tolerate any more of you drunk. I am better than that, and I know you are better than that. Make your choice. Please choose me. Amelia._"

I put the letter down and stared at the wall. "He chose... poorly," I stated, trying my best for the knight templar accent. But it was no fun quoting movie lines to an empty room. I reread the letter again, feeling as though it were a clue to a murder case. Oddly enough, I had so much in common with the man who killed my friend Anthony. Words began to jump out at me, then whole phrases. "Cannot hide in the past... choice... me or the past... I know you are better than that..."

"Is it odd to think that something so obscure and totally not related to you at all can be just what you need to read at the moment?" I called out to the empty room. Silence. It was getting on my nerves. "Come on, Invisible Gus, say something!" I yelled out. All I heard in return was the snapping of branches outside and the slight moaning of the wind.

"I wish I had a volleyball," I whispered as I looked around the room, darkened by the late afternoon shadows. Then, I took the picture, set it down on a dusty table, and looked at Greg, his wife, and his daughter Savannah. "Greg," I said, "I'm sorry I scared you. I know now you died by alcohol poisoning, but it wasn't really fair of me to make your last few moments on this earth terrifying. That being said, it wasn't really fair of you to run over Anthony either. He would have made a great cop one day." I sighed, feeling somewhat relieved, as if the score were settled now. Then, I looked up and started speaking to "Invisible Gus." (Of course, I knew he wasn't really there, but I tried to imagine what Gus would say. It's a useful technique, though kind of annoying when it branches out to everyone you know.)

"The way I see it, I have three choices," I began. "Though there could be more choices in life, like choosing to go to Canada on vacation or choosing to buy an almond snickers instead of a peanut one, I'm talking about the kind of choices in Greg's letter. First, I can run. Spend ten to twenty years abroad and gallivanting around like my uncle, then coming back to Santa Barbara after all the trouble is over. I know you will forgive me, Invisible Gus, because our bond is stronger than friendship. Our bond is one of brotherhood, of Ebony and Ivory. We are Ivany!"

I took a deep breath; it was exhausting talking to the wall. "But with the option of running," I lectured, "I'd loose the love of my life permanently, if I haven't lost her already, plus loose the shaky ground I've gained with my dad. But, I would get to see more of the world." As I sat there, thinking of traveling, I suddenly had a crazy idea. What if something bad happened to me while I was overseas? What if I died alone? Or worse, what if I was dying in a hospital in some foreign country, dying essentially alone yet worse because I'd be surrounded by people I didn't know.

Even worse still, what would I do if I found out my dad was dying? What if Gus was dying? What if, heaven forbid, Jules was dying? I cared too much about them all to leave them alone, and what if they needed me to solve a crime? What if Jules was kidnapped, and I was the only one who could find her? It had happened before, it could happen again. The future was full of horrible what ifs, but if I ran, I wouldn't be around to save or help anybody.

"Since when have you ever wanted to help anybody but yourself, Spencer?" asked Invisible Lassie in his rude, pompous voice.

"I did not ask for your opinion, thank you," I replied to myself, but he was right. When had I ever cared about anyone but myself? "When I met Abigail," I whispered.

Abigail. Abigail had changed me. Well, had started changing me. While Jules was my soul mate in so many more ways than one, Abigail had brought me out of myself, had taught me to care about someone other than myself and occasionally Gus. In fact, I even chose saving her over Juliet once. And I've never regretted it. "Call me, when you decide to stop chasing psychopaths." Those had been her last words to me before she broke it off. And there lay my second choice; should I choose to find Abigail again, find her and tell her I was a changed man and was done with detective work for good?

No, it was a stupid choice. I was trained from birth to be a living detective machine; there was really nothing else that I could really and truly enjoy doing, and anyway it wasn't like I could turn my observations on and off. Besides, Abigail needed someone as like-minded as her; she wanted to change the world. She needed someone who would change the world with her. I could never do that.

My third choice, then, would be to go back to Santa Barbara, confess what I'd done to the Chief, and come clean on everything. Not only that, but I'd have to accept without complaint the consequences that awaited me. That would be the only way to save the relationship with my dad. Gus would be with me through thick an thin. And Juliet, well...

If I left her, it would certainly mean the end. If I came back, we still might end, but at least it was a shot. At least there was a chance. And as I sat there, the shack growing darker every minute and the air getting colder, I realized that I was willing to choose for the chance to make things better, the chance to admit my failures and move on, the chance to really and truly live.

"It'll hurt," my Invisible Dad said in a slightly mocking tone.

"What day doesn't hurt, Dad?" I asked. "Seriously, I've been through enough in the last six years to know that life hurts."

"So are you going for it?" asked Invisible Gus.

I took a deep breath. For a moment, it was as if my whole life lay before me spread out like a road map, the different choices taking different turns. I know what choice one would lead me to; it was just a giant circle. I refused to take choice two, on the grounds that Abigail needed someone other than me. I took a deep breath, but before I said "yes" I heard one more invisible voice. It was Jules's voice.

"I need you Shawn, come back to me," she said sadly.

"I hear you sweetheart," I said aloud in the empty cabin. "And I've made my choice. I choose choice three; to go back to Santa Barbara and face the consequences."

I then looked down at the picture on the dusty table. I picked it up, being careful not to bend the crumbling edges. "Thank you, Greg," I whispered. I then put the picture and the note back inside what was left of the frame, placed it back to it's proper place on the windowsill, stretched, and walked outside. The sun was very low in the sky; it would be dark within an hour. Though I knew it was easy to get lost on the logging roads in the dark, I had no desire to stay the night here. I wanted to get home as soon as possible; I had too much to do.

"Goodbye," I said to the shack, and the picture glinted again in the window, as if waving goodbye for a final time. I then climbed onto my motorcycle, started the engine, and steered towards the road that would take me back to civilization. I didn't once look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **Thanks to everyone who've reviewed! Your support is very much appreciated; especially since this is my first Psych fic. Time now for the Lassie angst chapter, just so we can get a break from Shawn angst. Poor Juliet! Also, please excuse my medical mistakes, as I am neither a doctor nor a nurse and really have no idea.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters involved.

_Juliet's POV_

Really, I was only unconscious for about thirty seconds or so. Usually, I have the constitution of a horse, and when I felt myself collapsing my adrenaline kicked in. Sadly though, my brief encounter with the pavement did little to calm Gus's nerves. I woke to him screaming his girl scream as he ran through the parking lot towards me. I rolled my eyes and staggered to my feet, but I was not fast enough and the next thing I knew Gus was dragging me towards the sidewalk.

"Gus!" I yelled as I struggled to regain what was left of my dignity, "Let me go! I'm fine!"

"No you're not. Fine people don't face-dive in a parking lot."

"Face-dive?" I asked in confusion. "I think belly-flop would have been a better metaphor. But Gus, I'm fine now so why don't you let me go?"

"What if you fall again?" asked Gus. "Juliet, we are in a parking lot! Do you know how dangerous they can be?"

I rolled my eyes; Gus's car was the only car parked. "Gus, it's ten-thirty in the morning! Directly between breakfast and lunch on a _weekday_. No one's going to hit us!"

Gus sighed, and let me go.

"Thank you," I grumbled.

Gus nodded. "I'm taking you home so you can get some sleep," he said firmly. "You need rest, Juliet."

I shook my head. "No, I'm going back to the hospital to be with my partner. You can either drive me, or I'll take the bus."

Gus flinched, which in turn made me immediately regret my jerky attitude. "Look Gus," I said in a reasonable voice, "the place that would be safest for me anyway is a hospital. I mean, I just fainted! Maybe I need a check-up... or something."

Gus glanced at me, then slowly nodded. "Well, that is a good idea. At least there you can be treated for any dizziness. I will drive you back."

Gus wanted to stay with me until he was sure I was okay, and that meant agreeing to have a doctor look me over. Fortunately, Lassiter's doctor was more than willing to do a quick spot check, which meant he looked in my eyes, declared that I didn't have a concussion, and sent Gus on his merry way. When Gus was gone, I got down to business.

"Doctor, is my partner doing any better?"

The doctor frowned and shook his head slightly. "Your partner is a strange one... When he came in, we were amazed at not only his good luck but his body's tenacity. I truly expected he would be improved by now. It could be that with his body fighting infection, his reserves of strength have been used up. However, there is something about your friend that makes me wonder... with our antibiotics he still _should_ have a fair shot... it's almost like he doesn't have the willpower to live. He isn't fighting with us, he's just there."

"Doctor, I don't understand," I stated angrily. "Lassiter is made of iron; the man once pulled me off of a clock tower without even flinching at the height. He once shot a man who set him up by pulling a gun from a bowl of peanuts; he even _caught the spent cartridge in the air _when he reloaded! He even got his foot caught in a bear trap while we were hunting Bigfoot, fell off a cliff, and still was able to grab onto a tree I knocked over and pull himself to safety. I don't understand how a couple of bullets are setting him back that much."

The doctor looked at me with a very strange look; if I had to describe it, it would be one of incredulous skepticism. "After that narrative," he said dryly, "I can't understand his apparent lack of progress either. Tell me, does the good detective have something to fight _for_?"

I blinked. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Something... preferably someone... whom he cares enough about to want to stick around in this life a little longer? Does he have a wife, girlfriend, anyone of that sort?"

"He has a girlfriend," I stated.

"Are they close?

"Pretty close," I said. "At least, as close as Carlton can get to another human being."

"Why has she not visited then?" asked the doctor.

"She can't," I replied. "She's in jail."

The doctor sighed. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." He then looked at me with a pained look. "Detective, I can't sugar coat his case. Your partner is in really bad shape. He's been heading downhill all morning... and I can't promise that he will still make it through this."

I nodded. The tears welled up behind my eyelids, but I blinked them away. "May I sit with him?" I asked.

The doctor sighed. "As long as you keep out of the way of the other doctors and nurses. The police chief said that you and your partner have a deep bond. I've learned it does not do well to sever that bond, especially when someone is barely hanging on. If you need anything, please let me know."

I thanked the doctor for his kindness and glanced through the door into the ICU. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

It was the longest and loneliest day of my life. I sat by Carlton's side, only leaving when the nurses needed to change bandages or when the doctors needed to carry out a quick check. When that happened, I roamed the hospital halls like a wraith. On one occasion, I bought a coke from the vending machine. The day was so slow even that mundane action felt like an event. But mostly, I sat next to Carlton, talking to him in soft tones about music, books, life in general, and anything I could think of to get him to try and wake. I alternatively praised and condemned the sport of fishing to no avail. I tried to talk about stricter gun control, hoping that he would wake and "put me in my place" like he often did. I got nothing.

For a while I sat silent, thinking about Shawn. I had been trying to not to think about him at all; his childish actions were still making me seethe inside. Yet, I had run out of things to say. So I pondered instead about what would happen next. I wondered where Shawn was. Even though I was mad at him, I wished he were here. I wanted to smack him, then snuggle in his arms and cry. I missed him terribly. And somewhere deep down inside I knew that _if_ Shawn returned, we could work this all out. Things would definitely not be the same between us, but they didn't have to be worse. They might even be better.

I began to talk about Shawn to my silent partner. I explained to Lassiter about Shawn's text in the morning, and how that made me feel. I talked about how much I loved and needed Shawn, and transferred that to how much Carlton needed Marlow. That made me think of how much _I_ still needed Carlton (or wanted him around at any rate; I did not want to have to train a new partner.) This thought actually irritated me, so to irritate Lassiter I then talked to him about what I would do without him; mainly re-arrange his desk, burn his personal case files, and build a snow-globe shrine. All these things I said, hoping to get a rise in blood pressure (or at least some sign of life), but nothing seemed to help. He remained unconscious, his skin still burning while his body violently trembled. And I sat there, feeling ridiculous and utterly useless.

Finally, it got dark, and the hospital lights dimmed slightly. I was tired, drained, and running beyond empty. My voice was hoarse from almost constant use and my hands shook from too much caffeine. Still, Lassiter did not move; he might have been a gray statue.

The chief came by shortly after it got dark. She talked to the doctor first, and their conversation lasted a very long time. Finally, Chief Vick came into our circle of curtains.

"He isn't expected to live through the night," said the chief without preamble.

I shook my head. "I refuse to accept that," I stated.

The chief blinked warily. "It's not your willpower that's being tested at this moment, O'Hara, it's your partner's. And right now, he doesn't seem to have much left."

The chief was silent for a while, then said quietly, "Are you prepared to be here if he dies?"

I nodded solidly. "Carlton is my friend and partner. He once left against protocol to pull me off of a clock tower. He just took two bullets for me. I will not leave him to die alone."

The chief sighed heavily. "I understand, detective. Do what you feel is right."

I looked at the chief for a moment, taking in her tired appearance. "Chief," I said almost desperately, "there has to be a way to reach him. This moment; this is Carlton's clock tower. And somehow, someway, I'm going to find a way to pull him off."

The chief sighed and turned to go. "For your sake O'Hara," she stated as she left the room, "I hope he doesn't pull you down with him."

"What does she know?" I grumbled after Chief Vick headed out. I looked at my partner and scowled. "Come on, Lassiter, I know you've always wanted to show the chief up. Now's your chance to do it!"

Nothing.

I felt empty. The noises of the hospital quieted down considerably as people were settling down for the night. I curled up in a chair next to my partner's bed and watched the monitors with red-rimmed eyes. A nurse came in and did a night check, and then everything was quiet. Too quiet. I have always been a tough girl. My brothers taught me how to be strong, and I learned everything about survival and the woods and basically everything you'd need to "survive a zombie apocalypse" (I'm quoting Shawn). Toughness lessons did not include watching someone you care about die. Toughness lessons did not include what to do when you are sitting alone inside a quiet hospital trying your best not to cry. Toughness lessons did not include... damn, I was crying.

I clenched my mouth shut to keep from making noise, but my sudden onslaught of emotions hit me like a ten-foot wave. I'd been holding everything in so long that it was all bursting out again. Except this time, I refused to leave my partner's side to go cry in private. I kept thinking, "What if he dies when I'm gone?" So, I held Carlton's hand tightly and let myself go, only restraining the noises my sobs would make. I knew I was a mess; emotionally, physically, probably every other -ally you could think of. Yet at this point I didn't care; I let the tears fall, and after a few moments I buried my head in Carlton's mattress to stifle what I couldn't hold back any longer.

It must have looked awkward, a woman sitting in a chair with her face buried in a mattress, convulsing in sorrow. I didn't care; hope had pretty much flown by now, and I dared anyone to try and cross me. I really wanted an excuse to fight something, but I also felt too exhausted to move. And then, as I was trying to calm myself down, I felt a comforting hand on my head.

At first, I thought it was Gus (though why he didn't just say "Hey Jules" was beyond me). Then, I wondered if Shawn had come back, and was too ashamed to say anything. I looked up... and my eyes met an empty room. Then, my eyes widened in wonder as I realized what was _actually_ happening... it was Carlton's hand on my head.

"Carlton?" I whispered, sitting up quickly and grabbing his hand again. "Carlton!"

His hand moved again in mine, barely squeezing it. The monitors began to beat faster. Then, his face flushed slightly. It was barely noticeable, but the change in his color spoke volumes. Carlton was trying to wake up!

"That's it, come on Carlton, fight!" I said, my voice still cracking in between sobs. "Come on, it's okay," I said softer. Lassiter moaned, as if he were in a ton of pain, and the heart monitors shot up. Suddenly, he squeezed my hand so tight it felt as if my hand were in a vice.

"Quick," I shouted out into the hall behind me, "someone, anyone! My partner's waking up!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: Sorry we have to leave poor Lassie there for another chapter, but we have Shawn's POV to take care of. Hope my portrayal of Chief Vick didn't come out wrong; there's been so little of her lately that she is kind of hard to write.

**Disclaimer: **I don't foresee ever owning Psych or it's characters. I do however own a pineapple, and I'm going to eat it.

_Shawn's POV_

When I got back to Santa Barbara, it was ten o'clock at night. The first place I went was Gus's apartment; I needed to grab some cash from him so I could pay back the money I took from my dad. (Since Gus claims me as a dependant on his taxes, he also has control of the Psych business account. I'm usually not above swiping his credit card, but this was my first act after my choice and I wanted it done right.) Gus was still in his work clothes, which surprised me since usually Gus was an early-to-bedder (unless we had a stakeout going).

"I'm glad you're back," Gus said, and he wrapped me in a strange stiff bear-hug. It was over faster than it began, and I rolled my eyes as he let go.

"I had an eponine," I said without preamble.

Gus squinted in confusion. "You mean an epiphany?"

"Don't make up words, Gus," I stated.

Gus rolled his eyes. "I am not making up words Shawn! An epiphany is a life-changing thought, while Eponine is the name of that stalker girl in Les Miserables."

"First of all, Eponine is a highly misunderstood character," I said argumentatively, "and second of all... I haven't eaten since this morning. Do you have something edible here?"

Gus grinned. "Do I ever!" he stated. "I have NACHOS!"

I love nachos.

We commenced the eating of said nachos.

When we were done (which didn't take long), Gus asked me my plan. I told him that I planned to pay my dad back then go over to the Psych office and get some shut eye. Half of that sentence was a blatant lie, but I did not want Gus coming with me this time. What I was about to do... I had to do alone.

Gus was only too eager to help with the money though, and soon every cent was paid in full from my account. After that, I bid my friend goodnight and I raced over to the Psych office. I unpacked all my clothes and threw the semi-empty bag back over my shoulder. At the desk, I wrote out a small note of apology to my dad and I tucked it inside the bag. Jumping back on my motorcycle, I headed over to my father's house and broke back into the garden shed. Surprisingly, everything seemed in the exact same spot it had been in before I had taken the bag. I crept over to the pot and noticed that the plank over it had been moved a little. I groaned and uncovered the pot where dad's clothes were meant to be. Inside the pot was nothing except one small sheet of paper with my dad's handwriting on it.

"_Come see me when you get this_," the note read shortly.

I shook my head bemusedly and crammed the bag into the pot. I'd see my father tomorrow (if I wasn't in jail by then for what I planned to do), and I'd apologize then. So much for my hope that my father wouldn't have really noticed the theft. You can never really pull a fast one on your parents; they know you too well.

I rolled my motorcycle to a safe distance away from the house and my sleeping father, then hopped on. I road straight down to the police station. I wasn't sure if Chief Vick would be there or not... it was very late and she had a family... yet I figured that with Lassiter in the hospital and her notorious habit of staying awake for forty-eight hours or more when there was a crisis, she might just be in her office.

I was right. She was sitting in her office, staring off into space. Normally, the Police Department is a whirl of activity day or night. Yet now, I could almost feel how the atmosphere changed. I don't know what I had expected... people feeling happy? Lassiter was such a jerk sometimes... and yet everyone who was working seemed subdued and almost sad.

I knocked gently on the chief's door. For a moment, I wondered if she had fallen asleep with her eyes open again (the creepiest thing I've ever seen), but then she turned towards the door and beckoned me in. I took a deep breath and entered.

"Mr. Spencer," she said shortly, by way of greeting.

"Hello," I replied softly. I had planned on a jaunty, "Hello Chief!" like in Get Smart, but when I heard her tone I scrapped that idea. Now was not the time.

"Chief," I said, trying to push the nervousness out of my voice, "I have something to talk to you about."

"Have a seat," Chief Vick said, motioning to the chair in front of her desk. I sat down quietly.

"I would have thought you'd have come in sooner Spencer," the Chief admonished. "After all, a debrief would have been helpful."

I took a deep breath. "I had to leave for a day. I had an errand that I had to do. But I am back for good now, and I have something to tell you." I stopped there, unsure of how to proceed.

"Well Spencer, spill it!" the Chief commanded after a long moment of silence.

I closed my eyes and blurted out, "I'm not a psychic. I never was, never have been, and never will be."

There was a loud silence (if you've ever been waiting for a punishment you'll know what I mean), then the Chief said simply, "I know."

"You know?!"

"Yes, I know you are a fake, Spencer."

I stared at her for the longest time, then I finally asked, "How long have you known?"

The Chief grinned wryly. "Well, I could never be sure... but I never really truly believed, just so you know. I knew for certain all the way back when Mr. Yin kidnapped Juliet; you practically told me that if you were a psychic you would have seen that coming. But Spencer, think about it, I know your father quite well. The stories people tell about him in this office are legendary; I know that he trained you from birth to be the world's greatest detective! That psychic stuff threw us off for a while; no one believed that a grown rational man would act as you did. But... I would say that only O'Hara, McNabb, and that woman down from records... what's her name again... well, anyway only those three _really_ believe you are psychic. In this office anyway; I'm sure the press and the rest of the population of Santa Barbara haven't a clue."

"Why did you let me continue then?" I asked sullenly, annoyed that my act had apparently not worked.

"I needed those crimes to be solved," the Chief answered shortly. "When I was appointed the Chief of Police, I had Lassiter to fight against and a whole city of seemingly genius criminals to contend with. Lassiter's not bad in his way, but he doesn't have the gift for seeing things in a different light. Everything is black and white to Lassiter, but for you everything is gray and the clues stand out in color."

I jumped. "How could you possibly know that?!"

"How else could you possibly observe what we can't? Anyway, I needed someone to distract Lassiter while I established a firm hand of control over the department, and you were the perfect distraction. The cases being solved were a great bonus, which is why I have let you stick around as long as you have. I have also grown... quite fond of having you around, Mr. Spencer," ended the Chief, softening her callous and cold answer just a little.

"So this was all a political scheme then?" I asked angrily. "I was a prawn in your political chess game!"

"The piece you are referring to is called a _pawn_, and no you weren't," she answered calmly, with an element of humor in her voice. "You were a way to keep the city of Santa Barbara from going under martial law. Can you imagine it if _Lassiter_ was the chief of police?! This was a way to keep everything going well, to keep order in an unstable environment. As the years passed, it actually helped everyone quite a bit, and not just in political aspects. Spencer, look at O'Hara. She's become one hell of a police officer having to rescue you and Guster all the time. Lassiter's softened over the years; he is not the power hungry vortex he once was. Your father and you have even begun to see eye to eye; I'd say my actions have accomplished a lot!"

"But you used me," I said quietly.

"That's what you get for lying," the Chief answered dryly. "Now, what are you planning to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I am assuming that O'Hara has given you a piece of her mind. At least, that was the impression I got when I spoke with Guster."

"She sure did," I answered carefully. "Juliet no longer knows I'm a psychic."

The Chief nodded. "What do you intend to do then?"

I gulped. "I intended to make amends."

"How?"

"By telling the world I am no longer a psychic."

"Hmm," Chief Vick sat for a moment, quiet. She looked quite unhappy about that. "That course of action presents a lot of problems, Mr. Spencer. First off, you would not be able to work alongside the city of Santa Barbara Police Department anymore. Your livelihood would be gone. Second, all the people you put away will be crying foul play, and there will be an enormous overhaul of cases. Though psychic testimony is not admissible in court, some witnesses could say that you lead them. Evidence might not be enough; we could have a very sticky situation on our hands. Plus the fact that you might get death threats from large number of people, your name will be smeared through the mud, you will loose credibility everywhere... honestly, Spencer, it is a tough road to walk."

I nodded quietly. "Jail?" I asked.

"Maybe for lying in the court cases, but I doubt there would be much of it. Many of your older cases are already expired. I really don't think you'd serve any time. I have an idea though, one I have been brainstorming just in case this came to pass... but it will require a great amount of work from you."

I gulped. "What?"

"I could release it to the press that you are turning your back on your 'psychic powers' and are taking the course for becoming a Private Investigator. Once you've passed the course, taken the training, and passed the test, you will be allowed to work as an adjunct to the police department again."

I frowned- that sounded like a lot of work! It was a nice mix of truth and fiction, though. And yet, I felt like... like it was a trap of some kind. I looked at Chief Vick's face; she showed no emotion one way or another. I sighed and said, "May I have a day to think on it?"

The Chief nodded. "Take two," she said shortly. "I'm not coming in tomorrow." She then stood up quickly, which made me jump to my feet. "If I were you," she continued quietly, "I'd head over to the hospital and be there for your girl."

I nodded and began to walk towards the door. Remembering that I wanted to know about Lassiter though, I stopped and looked over at the Chief.

"Chief, how's Lassie doing?"

The Chief looked down at her desk, as if trying to hide her face. "Badly. He's not expected to live through the night."

I nodded in comprehension, though the news twisted in my gut like a knife. I had left Jules to deal with all of this alone! Some boyfriend I was. I hurried out of the Chief's office, hurried out of the Police Department, and scurried across the parking lot to my motorcycle. I jumped on and headed over to the hospital as fast as possible.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **So, after last week's reveal episode, I feel like I have a week left to predict anything that will yet happen in this show. That makes my friend's and my discussion about what Juliet would do if she found out Shawn were not psychic a rather moot point, but I will finish this story anyway. We can't leave Lassiter in the hospital forever...

**Disclaimer: **Characters are not mine. Enjoy! And thanks for all who reviewed!

_Juliet's POV_

The night nurse was there in less than thirty seconds, but it felt like forever. Lassiter kept thrashing; his iron grip on my hand was cutting off my circulation. I didn't want to let him go, yet I was frightened that he'd knock a tube or so loose. So, I tried to pin him down with my other hand as the night nurse ran to call one of the night doctors. The night nurse returned a few moments later and joined me in restraining Carlton, and I was finally able to pry my hand loose.

"What's happening?" I asked, my voice sounding squeaky and not at all like me.

"I don't know; the doctor'll be here in a moment," the night nurse scowled back. "M'am, you need to leave the room now."

"No, this is my partner and I'm staying."

The night nurse sighed and looked at me like I was an unruly child. "M'am, if we need to do something we are going to need room. Please just go outside the curtains for a minute."

I wondered whether to fight or not, but then the doctor and a couple more nurses came in and the wave of them literally pushed me outside the curtains. I meandered off down the hall and into the waiting room, thinking that maybe I'd try to stay awake in a chair or something. When I entered the waiting room, I stopped in surprise.

It was more like _everything_ stopped. Time... space... my heart... Shawn was sitting in the waiting room. Time passed by in slow motion. Every detail of the room from the blue-gray walls to the stock photos of cabins and mountains stood out in sharp clarity. Light from an amber streetlight flooded through the window, coloring every surface in the dimly lit waiting room a dull orange-gold. Shawn himself was dressed exactly as I saw him last, from his checked top to his worn jeans. His face looked different though; his five-o-clock shadow was deeper, and his hair stuck out at all ends like he had been through a tornado. His hazel-green eyes peered out at me from shadows; apparently he had not gotten any sleep either.

"Hello," he said.

I couldn't reply. For a moment I wanted to run to him; I needed someone to hold me. But then I remembered why I was angry at him; how he had lied to me, how it was all his _fault_ we were even in this situation. And after all that, he had the gall to leave me alone without any support while he drove off to who knows where. Suddenly, my anger began to burn again, till I felt like I was hollow with nothing but rage keeping me conscious. I know I looked a sight. I was fairly certain the iris in my eyes had turned to flames. I felt I could kill someone right that moment, and that someone was standing in front of me. I took a step forward.

Shawn flinched and stepped back, though he didn't run as I expected him to. Instead, he reached for my arm. "Jules, please listen to me," he said quietly.

"NO!" I wrenched my wrist back from him and winced; that wrist had been the one Carlton had grabbed on to, and it was still tender and already bruising. Shawn noticed my wince and grabbed my hand again.

"What happened to you?" he asked gently, almost as if I were some wild animal he were trying to tame.

"Lassiter grabbed onto my wrist; he didn't mean to do it," I answered flatly, my words echoing oddly through the ringing in my head.

Shawn nodded and asked, "How is Lassie doing?"

My eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?" I asked miserably.

Shawn's eyes bored into mine, looking hurt. "He's my friend, I have to see how he's doing. Besides, I know he's your partner, and... I care about you, so I want to be here for you."

"Where was that attitude yesterday?" I asked angrily, then tore my hand back again. I folded my arms and turned my face away, determined not to look into those eyes... they would only inevitably pull me back again.

"About yesterday, I was wrong. I'm sorry. Jules, there was something I had to do... but it's done now, and I am back for good. I spoke to the Chief about not being a psychic, and she has a plan for me on how to make sense of this whole situation. Jules, do you hear me? Everything can go on just like before; we don't need to fight. We can get back to the status quo."

"Status quo!" I snapped angrily. My eyes were burning again; I fixed him with my fiery stare. "Shawn, the deal is you lied to me! You lied to me for years, and you'll lie to me again; just like my father! Just like my stepfather! Oh Shawn; I've become just like my mother... I've fallen in love with a con man who does cheap circus tricks, only to be found out when a trick backfires and the audience sees how it's done. Was our whole relationship built on a lie? Was I some kind of game for you, some kind of bet between you and Gus?"

"No!" Shawn's shout stilled the words still forming on my tongue. "From the very first moment I saw you I fell in love with you; I didn't even know you were a cop then! I've loved you for years Jules, you just never knew it. I've lied a lot of times in my life, but I never lied about how I felt with you; it's the only part of me that _is_ sincere. Juliet, I may have lied but I am not your father, nor your stepfather. I am myself, and... you have changed me. You've made me choose the path I never would have taken. Jules, I'm coming clean. No more lies; from now on, I am flying high!"

I watched him speak, Shawn's words so like him, and yet so unlike him. Oh, he was good. Shawn was a good speaker, and a great actor to fool me into thinking he had changed. That he had somehow developed conviction. I snapped my eyes away from him. "You'll be flying alone," I said coldly. "I want nothing more to do with liars."

"But I am not lying, Jules, I swear to you I've changed," Shawn insisted. "Something happened to me... something amazing, and I'm not the man I was!"

"Humph," I huffed. "Well, since I apparently never knew the man you really were it is hardly surprising that I can't see a difference Shawn!"

Shawn's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms to match mine. "I'll prove it to you," he said with a glare.

I was about to reply when the night doctor came in. "Are you Detective O'Hara?" he asked.

I nodded. "How is my partner doing?" I asked numbly.

The night doctor smiled a grim smile. "He's fighting, which is more than he was doing before. The antibiotics have helped turn the tide; his infection's going down. We're just waiting for his fever to break, but we gave him some more painkiller; he wouldn't settle down and we were afraid he'd break loose in his delirium."

"Delirium?" I asked incredulously. "Do you mean he's awake?"

The doctor shrugged. "In once sense of the word. He regained consciousness but he's completely out of his head at the moment."

"What else is new?" quipped Shawn.

I ignored him. "Can I go back and sit with him?"

"Yes, he's calmer now. Try not to wake him if he's asleep; he needs all his strength to break this fever."

I nodded and followed the doctor out, noting that Shawn followed me. The two of us slipped silently back into the curtained room. Lassiter was once again asleep, but his color was much deeper; the awful grayness was gone and his pale skin was flushed with red. I curled up in the chair next to my partner's bed while Shawn procured a chair from somewhere. I felt really out of it; everything seemed surreal, and I realized that it must have been very late at night. This would be my third day of not sleeping. Black spots tinted the edge of my vision, and I felt woozy. All the anger had burned out and in its place a bone chilling numbness had set in.

Shawn set his chair right next to mine and had arranged it so that my chair was facing his at an angle. Then, before I had even realized what was happening, Shawn had slipped his legs under mine and pulled me forward, so that I was resting along the curve of his body. He readjusted his legs so that they were both supported by the chair, and in a moment I was more comfortable than one had a right to be in the torturous hospital chairs. My mind briefly raged at being cuddled this way like a stubborn child, while at the same time it wondered whether anyone else had ever tried to make their body into a convenient hammock.

"Go to sleep," he whispered. "You can be mad at me again in the morning."

"I've got to watch Lassie," I muttered sleepily.

"I'll watch him for you," Shawn whispered.

"Just because you're being nice and responsible now doesn't mean you've changed," I snuffed, my head feeling fuzzy.

"Let me prove it to you," he answered back. I was going to say something more, but the extreme weariness of the past three days caught up with me, and I was out like a light.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Okay, next chapter! I figured Shawn would start to show a little more emotion now that he's changed (as well as been awake for about as long as Juliet, possibly longer); in the series he makes a great angst face yet buries his emotions so deep they never see the light of day. Nothing overboard, though, just what I think would happen. Oh, and poor Lassie will be up and running next chapter or so. He still had to fight and beat his fever, which he does here with great gusto. Also, I claim no medical knowledge, so if you're a nurse or doctor and are laughing over the hospital scene, I apologize (but I'm glad to make you laugh!). Enjoy, and thanks for all the reviews!

**Disclaimer: **The characters mentioned are not mine.

_Shawn's POV_

I woke up early to the sunlight pouring through a small hospital window and to a extremely painful cramp in my back. For a moment, I wondered why I was stretched out between two hospital chairs with Juliet using me like a pillow, and then my brain clicked in and I remembered. My eyes darted around the room; Lassie was asleep, worn out from the terrible night he had just had.

The memory of last night gave me the chills. After Jules had fallen asleep, Lassie had woken back up. I was surprised he didn't wake Juliet with all his thrashing. I had never seen someone fight for their life before. Of course, there was my dad after he got shot, but he just sort of lay there. There was Mary as he died after being killed by Mr. Yin, but he didn't really struggle against death. Lassiter... was a different story entirely.

All night long he had twisted and turned, panted like he had just completed running a marathon, and yelled out in pain. I noticed that the medical staff had taken out his breathing tube; grimly, the doctor told me it was because Lassie was moving so much that they were afraid he'd choke himself with it. Lassie began coughing constantly, and the doctor came back in with a shot of something that calmed it right down. But what was most chilling was listening to Lassie's conversation. I felt like an eavesdropper somehow, but it didn't really matter anyway because Lassie had no idea what he was saying. There were times when he'd wake, struggle to get his head up, stare out into the darkness with giant terrified eyes, and hoarsely shout things like, "you can't have her yet," and "I can _always _shoot farther than you can." I almost jumped to the ceiling once when he screamed out, "Spencer! Drop the snow globe!" It would have been hilarious had he not looked right at me as he said it. Well, right through me. His eyes were glassy, and apparently he did not see me but a monster, for the next moment he cried out in terror and sank back down into the bed.

It was a long night.

Finally, around four-thirty in the morning, Lassie's fever broke. The night doctor nodded over to me his approval, and I watched as Lassie's face relaxed and he slept. I yawned then, too tired to do anything but whisper over to him, "Good night, Lassie. Dream about Marlow." Then, I shifted myself for the umpteenth time in the world's most uncomfortable position, pulled Juliet closer, and fell asleep myself.

Now it was morning, and though everything was extremely peaceful I knew I had to break that peace. My back felt like it was broken; the back muscles felt like a solid mass of Redvines. I couldn't take it anymore, so I gently pulled my legs off Juliet's chair.

My legs had gone numb.

With a yelp I fell to the floor, Juliet landing on top of me. She bolted awake in surprise at the sudden movement, and in moments was to her feet.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" she asked irritated.

"Trying to get up," I muttered back. "Give me a hand would you? Better yet, give me two."

Juliet backed away. She still looked tired, but nowhere near as exhausted as she had looked the night before. She also still looked angry. I sighed inwardly; to make this work I'd need patience. Lots and lots of patience. Besides, it was all my fault anyway.

"Out," Juliet stated without preamble.

"What?" I grumbled from the floor. "After being used as the human pillow and listening to Lassie hallucinate all night you're just going to throw me out?"

"Shawn, I'm not in the mood. My partner is sleeping, and if you don't leave I'm going to start screaming at you, and then he'll wake up!"

"Is that supposed to scare me?" I thought, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I sighed, then got up on wobbly Jell-O legs. "Can I see you later?" I asked quietly.

"I'll call _you_! Can't you get a clue through your thick 'psychic' waves that _I don't want you here_?!" Juliet whispered fiercely, then out the curtains I went. I had no idea she was that strong; I was practically lifted up and thrown out. I sighed and stretched outside the curtain; should I try to stay? I thought about it for a moment, then I turned and walked down the hospital corridor towards the exit. I'd come back later; right now I had a few other things I had to straighten out.

I called Gus, and he met me at the hospital with the Blueberry. Then, we headed over to my dad's house. On the way, Gus tried to make me feel guilty about visiting the hospital without him, but I distracted him by talking about the merits of the TV show Hunter. That was enough to keep him busy till we got to my dad's house, and no awkward conversations ensued.

My dad was sitting on the front porch, looking irritated as per the norm. But behind all that irritation, I detected... genuine worry. My dad was worried for me? Well, that was new! Or was it?

"Father!" I said dramatically as Gus and I exited the Blueberry. "I have returned!"

My dad rolled his eyes and stood with his arms crossed. "I told you to come see me as soon as you got my note! Since you returned all the money you stole (and I hope you didn't steal that!), I know you saw the note. Why couldn't you just follow directions for once?"

I grinned; the old man really had been worried about me. Then, an unexpected pang shot through my conscience. I actually _regretted_ causing him worry. The reality of my changed perspective silenced my snarky eloquence for the moment, and I found myself saying quite sincerely, "I'm sorry dad."

Gus stared, opened mouth.

My dad stared. He uncrossed his arms, stepped down the stairs, and literally attacked me. "Do you have a fever?" he asked, putting his hand to my head. "Are you dying?"

"No!" I sniped, slapping his hand away from my already disastrous hair. "I'm fine, thank you very much! And leave the hair alone; it's bad enough as it is. Why are you both acting so weird anyway? What's wrong, can't a guy be sorry for what he did?"

"I didn't know you could be, Shawn," my dad said quietly.

"Nor did I," Gus replied.

Their stunned looks cut at my soul even more, making me feel self-conscious and... different. It was weird. It was like I was still myself, and yet not at the same time. _I was putting them first._

"Dad," I found myself saying. "Dad, I think... I lost Juliet."

Then, the weirdest thing of all happened that very weird morning. I began to cry. I seriously have never cried in my adult life. Ever. Not even when my dad was dying did I cry. It just didn't touch me like that. I rage, I go a little off the deep end the Lassie way, and I yell. But here, with my father looking at me with eyes full of... compassion, to Gus's understanding stare... something inside me snapped. For the first time, I suddenly felt that I had suffered a terrible loss, and it was all my fault. And I was _sorry_ about it! It felt like a knife had split my heart. And so I stood there in front of my childhood home, two great tears spilling out of my eyes, feeling like the loser of the century.

_And my dad hugged me_.

Yeah, that's all I really want to remember about that.

A very, _very_ short while later my dad, Gus, and I were seated in the living room having a council of war. I told my dad most of what happened, but I left out the whole incident about the cabin. No one besides me and Jules would ever know about that terrible time in my life. It really wasn't necessary to the story I told my dad anyway. He had heard most of what happened through the Chief and through Juliet, yet he wanted to know my perspective on the matter.

For my part, I didn't know where I went wrong. Dealing drugs at the beach in broad daylight is small time dealing at most; not anything warranting a turf war! I had missed something, some vital, important clue, and that _grated _on me. I'd have to go back sometime and see what the gangsters were really after... but that could wait. I had made my mind up on the ride from the hospital with Gus; I was going to take the Chief's deal. But only _after _I got to present myself to the public as a fake; it was the least I could do for Lassie. Boy did I have a story to tell the press!

Gus poked me in the ribs, which brought me back down to earth. "What?" I asked him.

Gus rolled his eyes. "You didn't hear us, did you? We were asking you what you planned to do now; is Psych still a go? I mean, we could literally still use the psychic thing, but without the police we'd probably be bankrupt within a year."

"Don't you be asking me for money either," my dad grumbled good-naturedly. "If you're going to be the so called 'changed man' you say you are, you have to make it on your own."

"Thanks for the support dad," I intoned sarcastically.

"Well it's good to know that some of you stayed the same," my dad said with a wry smile.

I grinned an evil grin. "Just wait till you hear what I'm going to ask you next," I stated.

"No you can't have my truck."

I blinked. "Why would I want that _thing_?"

My dad scowled. "She's not a thing; she's a lady as well as a piece of art with muscle! You can't have my fishing rod either."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, wow, that's _not_ what I was going to ask. Why would I want your rod when I have a perfectly good one I've never had the desire to use? No Dad, I was going to ask you if I could borrow your detective course books."

There was silence, and a priceless look on both my dad's and Gus's faces. "Why?" my dad asked.

"Because I'm going to become a Private Investigator."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: **Ah, the angst continues. This story just keeps getting larger and larger; it grew so much from the little seed I had a year ago. Probably won't finish it by Wednesday, but I figure that so much is technically out of canon now it doesn't really matter what happens in this week's episode. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em!

_Juliet's POV_

"Ouch! That... hurts... O'Hara!"

"The doctor said you have to cough, now COUGH Carlton!"

(Cough.) "Okay," Carlton wheezed weakly.

Day four of me helping rehabilitate my partner. Oh the joy.

Actually, it wasn't all that bad. In fact, I felt pretty good bossing my partner around. Yesterday, Carlton had pretty much slept all day. His doctor came in, was amazed at the overnight progress, and was apparently putting Carlton back on his miracle healing list. Later in the afternoon I drove myself home, completely wiped out. Gus texted me to say that Shawn would drop by, but I just bolted the door, took a quick shower, and curled up in bed with my two cats. Shawn could jump off a bridge for all I cared.

I woke the next morning, ravenous and slightly dizzy. It occurred to me that I hadn't really eaten anything in... was it going on four days now? Was I crazy?! I determined to get some food in me first before I went to the hospital; Carlton could wait. The thought filled me with joy; I didn't have to worry about my partner dying while I was away! Though I guess that technically gave me leave to have all the free time I needed, I was still eager to see my friend, and so I bolted down two eggs, a bowl of cereal, three pieces of toast, and a cold slice of pizza left over from a stakeout six days ago. I know it sounds disgusting, but I was _hungry_!

After my meal, I was off like a shot, getting to the hospital around ten o'clock in the morning. Upon entering the ICU, I noticed that Carlton's bed was gone. For a moment, my heart stopped, and I felt faint. Fortunately, a kind nurse nearby saw my shocked look and told me that Carlton had been moved to a room upstairs. Once my heart stopped racing a mile a minute, I thanked the nurse and headed upstairs. Finding the right room took a moment in that maze of endless curtains, but I made it eventually.

"Carlton!" I squeaked, skidding to a halt inside his room.

Lassiter gave me a glare, which just made my grin wider. If he was feeling well enough to scowl, then he was certainly getting back to normal. His doctor was in the room, and was just about to explain what he needed to do for recovery. I saw a relieved look in the doctor's eyes; I wondered if Carlton had already done something to make half the staff resent him. It's his way.

"You've suffered some damage in your lung, but we've removed the bullet and patched you up good as new. However, in this stage of recovery, it is necessary that you cough at least a couple of times an hour to keep your lungs clear from a blockage. Yes, it will hurt like hell, but you must not allow a blockage to form or it can collapse your lung again and we'll be back to square one. Are we clear on why this is necessary, _Detective Lassiter_?"

My partner scowled; I could see where this was going. "Having trouble?" I asked the doctor nonchalantly.

The doctor smiled grimly, "Nothing that we can't handle, Detective O'Hara. But any help is greatly appreciated, if you catch my drift."

"I certainly do; tell me what needs to be done."

"Make sure he doesn't harass the nurses when they come in to check his breathing with the spirometer, and make sure he coughs at least a couple of times after every check."

"Can do!" I said happily. The doctor gave me a conspiratorial grin and left, and I turned to beam happily at my partner.

We sat there for a moment, volumes of unspoken thoughts volleying between us. Then, Carlton gave me a stiff and somewhat embarrassed nod. "Juliet... thanks for... you know... staying here... with me and everything," he wheezed at last. "The doctor... told me... what you did."

I was touched; Carlton _never_ called me by my first name. It made me realize how much he knew about what went on while he was unconscious; the doctor must have given him a fairly involved summary. "Thank you for not dying," I said at last, turning my head and wiping away an unbidden tear. "I wouldn't have wanted to be assigned with anyone else."

"Me... either," finished Carlton. He was looking at me distressed, and suddenly he burst out, "For the love of... O'Hara... stop crying! It's going... to be okay!"

I smiled then, my happiness returning with this more normal outburst. "Okay," I said with a breezy grin. "Well, let's get you back on the road again; have you coughed lately?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It... hurts."

"I don't care; do it!"

Carlton scowled. "You're... enjoying this... aren't you?"

"Maybe a little bit," I conceded mischievously. "Now COUGH!"

And that's pretty much how the whole day went. The evening, however, was another story _entirely_.

Shawn texted me all day. I ignored him all day. I was much to busy keeping my partner company, though mostly he dozed until it was time for him to wake up and use the spirometer. The nurses had declared me a success after I had gotten Carlton to cough, and I was now the one who was in charge of this particular ritual after his readings had been taken. At around five o'clock at night, though, Carlton's attitude was wearing pretty thin. Really, though, who could blame him? If I was in his position, I'd have probably been griping about everything too. Still, that didn't mean I had everlasting patience.

"Can't you leave me alone?" Carlton begged.

"Carlton, listen to you! Your lungs have already gotten a little stronger; you can talk in short sentences without gasping every other word."

"This is torture! Seriously... can't a guy just get... some rest!"

"If you wouldn't shout so much, you'd probably be feeling much better!"

"I'm not shouting!"

"Keep it up!" called a nurse from out in the hall. "Shouting's probably just as good as coughing!"

"Ahh! It's a conspiracy! And before you say... anything O'Hara... know what? Just shut it!"

I took a deep breath and counted to ten; enough was enough! But before I could lit into him, Shawn and Gus practically skipped through the doorway.

"Good evening, friends!" Shawn shouted theatrically. "Glad no one's sharing your room at the moment, Lassie; I seriously could hear you halfway down the hall."

"The nurse out there says that it's good for you to yell, though, so you just keep right on doing it," Gus added with a patronizing smile.

That shut my partner up.

I shot a quick look of gratitude Gus's way, then braced myself for my next big battle. "What do you want?" I asked Shawn, folding my arms and standing in my most threatening manner.

Shawn seemed non-pulsed. "Well, I figured that with both of you cooped up in this hospital, you haven't really gotten a chance to read the daily paper yet. Thought you might like to read the article on the front page."

He smiled and thrust a paper down on Carlton's bed-table. I looked at the paper in shock. Shawn was on the front cover, smiling with his usual boyish smirk, but there was something deeper in his eyes this time. The headline read, "Super-Sleuth Imposter Reveals All." I must have stood there in shock for a full minute, or at least until Gus took the paper out of my hands.

Gus cleared his throat, smiled his smooth smile, and began to read. "_Famous Psychic Detective, Shawn Spencer, who has previously been mentioned in this very paper as a liaison between the Santa Barbara Police Department and the citizens of this city, has come forward of his own accord to admit that for over seven years he has lied to the Police Department about being a psychic. Apparently, he has solved over one hundred cases using nothing but his own untrained detective skills. Incredibly, his cases have a ninety-nine percent success rate, with only one case he knows of left unsolved. Even more amazing is that, in most cases, Mr. Spencer's quick wit and superb observation skills have led the police time after time to solid evidence, and since psychic testimony is not admissible in court, all the criminals Mr. Spencer helped put away will remain there. Chief Karen Vick of the Santa Barbara Police Department was unavailable for comment. When asked why Mr. Spencer jeopardized his well-known relationship with the Santa Barbara Police Department, he stated that he was, "tired of living under a lie," and that he is "hoping to build a new life for himself and his loved ones." He sure picked an explosive way to start! Mr. Spencer plans to take the Private Investigator Licensing Test of California later this year, so that he can still work as a liaison to the police while expanding his own private business. The one thing that can be said about this man is he has guts; Mr. Spencer has become a Santa Barbara urban folk-hero today. What else can we say but that we wish him the best luck!_"

Gus stopped reading, and I just stared. Shawn was practically beaming from ear to ear. I looked over at my partner; his jaw was hanging slack, as if he had suddenly been hit in the face.

"Got to love it when you have friends in the press, huh?" asked Shawn innocently. "I solved a case for the editor a couple of years back, and so he thinks I'm pretty cool. Especially because I was able to solve his case when the police wouldn't give him the time of day."

Gus blinked. "Wasn't that the guy who wanted you to contact the spirit of his dead rabbit?"

"It was a cat Gus, and that's neither here nor there. What matters now is that I'm fully committed to the law now; all cards on the table. I'm legit. I'm legal! What you see is what you get man! And don't worry Lassie; I've talked to the Chief, and she's going to help me pass my PI course so that I can sill work alongside you both. Could there be any better news?"

"I wish... I would have died," Carlton said, his eyes still wide with shock.

I glared at Shawn; the fury had returned. "OUT!" I hissed.

Shawn shook his head. "My my, Jules, this is becoming a habit with you."

I shot a look at Gus. He saw I meant business. "Uh, Shawn, I'm gonna wait in the Blueberry," Gus said nervously. He backed away and practically ran to the door.

"Gus?" whined Shawn. "Great; are you just going to leave me here?!"

I grabbed Shawn's shirt collar then, and practically dragged him out into the hallway. "Follow me," I said through gritted teeth, and I led him out of the hospital onto the grounds.

The hospital had some nice gardens; it had a very large residential cancer center as well as a continuing care center. Gardens were just the place I needed at the moment; this time of year, they'd be fairly deserted, and I could chew out Shawn in peace.

"Jules, what is your problem?" Shawn asked when I finally slowed down.

I whirled on him. "Shawn, what on earth makes _that_ story you pulled in there a sign of your maturity?!"

Shawn huffed. "Is this a trick question? Because seriously Jules, I think the fact that I'm studying to become a private investigator is a pretty good indication that I'm maturing. I mean really, would the old me have even _looked_ for a stable job?"

I gritted my teeth. "It's not about that."

Shawn looked genuinely confused. "What is it about, then?" he asked.

"Shawn, it's the _way_ you did it. You made the entire police department look like fools!"

"What else is new?" Shawn drawled. Then, upon seeing me shake with rage, he amended, "Sorry Jules, that was a low blow."

"Yes it was," I snarled. "Shawn, we get thousands upon thousands of cases a year, ranging from petty theft to serial killer murders. _You_ only get called in on the things that we can't figure out in the first twenty minutes or so. The police department managed to get along just fine _without you _before you came, and it will get along just fine after you are gone! Not only did you and your 'friend' make _us_ look like fools; you proceeded to sell your story to your audience, and now the citizens of Santa Barbara are totally split. Some of them are behind you, and some are indifferent. The others who aren't behind you now have a much larger reason to kill you off; you made yourself a prime target! Plus, you thought that it would be a great idea to bring in a paper filled with nothing but yourself being idolized to _Lassiter_, who can't stand it that you always come out of every scandal unscathed. This should have been his time in the limelight; after all_, he's _the one who saved _me_. Yet now everyone will yet again be focused on _you_! Admit it, Shawn, you were gloating. You were bragging like a little boy, and nothing you did even made me feel remotely attracted to you."

"Well, what do you expect me to do?" asked Shawn, annoyed.

"Do?! I want you to put someone else first, for once in your life. Just once... so you can feel like how the rest of us feel."

That last part came out cold and hollow; my rage was spent. Shawn heard it too and looked at me somewhat hopefully. "How do you feel now?" he asked.

I glared at him tiredly. "I feel tired, and I can't stand the sight of you. Go away."

Shawn reached out a hand towards mine, but I pulled it back. "I mean this sincerely, Shawn. Just go away and leave me alone. I need some time... away from you."

I saw Shawn's eyes widen; his hand dropped. He turned and then he stomped away. I watched him leave, then I slowly meandered back to my partner's room.

Lassiter was asleep. I pulled up a chair next to his bed and grabbed the newspaper, my numbness giving way to immense sorrow. A giant tear splashed onto the picture of Shawn. I threw the paper across the room, aiming for the garbage bin. It actually made it in, which rarely ever happens for me, but I was too upset to gloat about it now. A part of me called out, "Enough is enough! Just make up with Shawn; loving someone is about give and take, about finding common ground, about compromising!" My heart ached; it felt torn in two, because the _other_ part of me was much more quiet and rational. It said, "Shawn's got to learn that he can't treat people this way." And I realized right then that _that_ part of me spoke the truth. I also realized that I was in for the _loneliest _time of my life.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **Sorry this was a bit slow; I was out of plot bunnies. I've got it fairly ironed out now though, so... see where the consequences of Shawn's actions lead him to next. Thanks for all the favorites and reviews; I really appreciate them!

**Disclaimer: **I really don't know much about the intricate laws of the justice system, so if you are in the know I hope you have a good laugh. I don't own Psych or any of the brand names or movies/T.V. shows Shawn and Gus reference.

_Shawn's POV_

I stomped away from the hospital garden, irritation threatening to blossom into real anger. I prided myself on keeping a cool head through indifference, but this was getting to be annoying! How could Jules just dismiss me like that? I came back, I did what she wanted... just not in the right way? How else would I have done it?!

Gus was waiting in the Blueberry, looking a bit apprehensive. "Drive," I snarled as I got in the car, and Gus practically peeled out of the parking lot (in true Gus style going seventeen miles per hour in a fifteen miles per hour zone).

"Nothing I do will ever be good enough for her," I said after a moment.

"Who, Jules?" asked Gus.

I shot him an annoyed look; who else would I be talking about?

"Well, if you think about it Shawn, Juliet does have a point..."

I scowled deeper. "How do you know she has a point; you didn't even hear our conversation!"

"I heard enough," Gus said defensively. "Besides, I understand the female mind. You did seem to come out of your 'going public' ordeal fairly well. And right now, Juliet is upset and running on empty, so she just wants to see you miserable too."

I thought about that for a moment. "You think so?" I asked hopefully. "'Cause I feel really miserable right now, and I don't think that made her feel better."

"It takes time," Gus said in a superior voice. "Now, while fair maiden cools off, let's go get ourselves a Pineapple Whip at the Tiki Bar."

"Fair maiden?" I asked, a bit weirded out. "Have you been watching the _Adventures of Robin Hood Lately?"_

"Nope, I watched _Ladyhawke_ this weekend."

"Ah, I see. That would explain it; in that movie Michelle Pfeiffer _is_ pretty fair."

"She was even finer in _Batman Returns_."

"Only if you like black leather," I quipped.

"You know that's right," Gus intoned.

oOo

That night, the two of us stayed up half the night watching the Batman movies in the Psych office. Well, we had to turn off _Batman and Robin_; it was too bad. The beginning we weathered out. Then the Governator came on and started singing a song from a Children's Christmas cartoon, and... we turned it off. It was two in the morning. We were afraid of getting nightmares from that one scene alone.

The next afternoon, after we both woke up, Gus and I headed over to the Police Station. I hadn't heard from the Chief yet about my newspaper escapade; I could only hope she was proud that I had the courage to come clean. I also wanted to take her up on her offer of becoming a Private Investigator Adjunct Detective (I prefer: P.I. **:** A.D. Not only does this set of initials look cool, it also looks like the title of a Tom Cruise disaster movie). So, imagine my surprise when I found the S.B.P.D. in a state of... utter chaos.

Well, utter chaos was not exactly the best way to put it, but it was close. Everyone was running to and fro; grabbing files, rummaging about in desks. There was a general feel of panic in the air, and men in black suits were combing the premises along with the uniform clad cops.

"What's going on?" I asked Buzz McNabb as he went scurrying by.

Buzz stopped and actually _sneered _at me. "Why don't you get a vision and figure it out for yourself, _psychic_?!" he said in a cold, accusing voice.

I reeled back; it was as if Buzz physically smacked me. He never was impolite to anyone, criminal or coworker; he was the most good-natured cop on the force.

"Dude, what's his problem?" Gus asked as Buzz stalked away.

"I have no idea," I answered back. "Come on, let's find the Chief."

Chief Vick was in her office, apparently exchanging words with a black suited man. Something about their entire exchange; something about the looks in their faces made me pause, and for the first time I didn't feel like I could burst in on the Chief. Whatever was going on in there was very serious; I felt my heart sink down slightly. "Who are these men," I wondered, "and why are they _everywhere_?"

I took a seat in a chair outside Chief Vick's office. Gus sat down next to me, staring at the suited men with unease. "Dude, I feel like I'm in the _Matrix_."

"Hm, well don't worry Gus. In the end it was all a dream."

"That's _Inception_ Shawn."

I pondered for a moment at the Chief's closed door. "Who's dream do you think we're in?" I asked Gus to keep my mind off the very strange situation at hand. "Yours or mine?"

"Neither."

"Come on Gus, you're being no fun. We're in your dream!"

"I don't want you in my dreams Shawn. Get out of my head!"

I was going to come up with a crushing reply, but at that moment the Chief's office door swung open, and a man in black stepped out. I stood up and walked towards the door.

"I would be careful if I were you," the man in black chuckled. "You've made quite a mess of things, you know." He then walked off, laughing like he had made the world's most hilarious joke.

"Yeah, well, you'll get yours Mr. Smith," I grumbled.

"Creepy," Gus agreed quietly.

The two of us walked into the Chief's office... and stopped dead. The Chief had sunk low in her chair, and her eyes were red as if she had been crying. When she saw us, however, she sat up so quickly it was as if she were a brand-new slap bracelet.

"Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster," she acknowledged. She didn't offer us a seat.

"What's going on around here?" Gus asked before I could even form the words.

"Investigation by Internal Affairs," she stated flatly. "Not a pretty picture is it fellas?"

"No," I said cautiously, looking out the window at the ongoing investigation. Then, I put two and two together.

"Chief," I asked, "Is this... investigation because of me?"

The Chief's eyes were hard as flint. "Mr. Guster, out!" she demanded.

Gus jumped to his feet as if his legs were springs. "See you outside Shawn!" he called over his shoulder as he raced for the door.

"Gus!" I called out again, miffed. "This is becoming a habit!" Then, I turned to look at the Chief. She still had not lightened up.

"Mr. Spencer," she stated, "Did I or did I not give you a choice if you wanted to continue working with the S.B.P.D.?"

"Yes, you did; you said I could take a detective's course and become a P.I.!"

"What did I tell you we'd do before that?"

"Go to the press," I said, confused.

"Yes, go to the press. Now Mr. Spencer, do you remember what I told you to _say_?"

"That I was renouncing my psychic ways and... oh, boy."

"Oh boy is right, that's _not_ what you told the press!"

"I told them the truth!"

"Yes, and in doing so you have brought this entire police department to it's knees. Did you even think of the implications you'd have by going public with the fact that for over seven years you'd managed to fool the entire police department?!"

I cringed; I hadn't been thinking about anyone else but myself. Just as Jules said!

"Now," the Chief said warily, "my superiors are wondering how poorly managed my department is. They think I was duped; or worse, in on the whole matter (which, in a way, I was). I didn't follow protocol; I took the risky way, and now we are under investigation for not only management and administrative issues but fraud as well! If you had just done as I suggested, Mr. Spencer, we wouldn't be having this conversation; you wouldn't be headline news. But now you're the talk of the town, and everyone is wondering how bad off our police department really is. After all, we were duped by a snarky _boy,_ who barely graduated high school, for _seven years_! How could we claim to solve any crimes after that?"

I remained silent. The Chief's words hurt; partly because she was angry and they were meant to, and partly because they were true.

The Chief sighed, then leaned back in her chair. She looked twenty years older. "Anyway," she said softly, "it doesn't really matter anymore. I'm out; Friday is my last day."

I blinked. "What do you mean you're out?"

"I'm fired," she replied sadly. "Or at least suspended until my hearing. My Internal Affairs Investigator is being very gracious with me; he says the pressure of the office has 'overstressed me to the point where I'm giving into wild theories without thought.' Basically, he's trying to say that the job cracked me. And maybe it has."

I felt like the room was too small; it was hard to breathe. The reality of what I'd done now hit me like a load of bricks. "What can I do to fix this?" I asked hoarsely.

The Chief gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Haven't you done enough?" she asked.

I felt my heart drop to my shoes. "There has to be something your... superiors would keep you on for. Something! Is there anything prestigious we can do; bring in a criminal; arrest a murderer?"

The Chief rolled her eyes. "Very solicitous of you to ask, Mr. Spencer, but unless you brought down a high profile gang or jailed a mob family, we'd have very little chance of turning this into a bigger publicity stunt than yours. Ours is a thankless job; we put away so many criminals a day, and never really get recognition for it. Only if it's high profile."

"What day is it?" I asked, determined.

"Seriously?" barked the Chief. "It's Tuesday, Mr. Spencer!"

"I'll have your gang busted by Friday," I vowed. "I promise, I will do everything possible to turn this around."

The Chief's eyes warmed slightly. "That's kind of you to promise, Mr. Spencer, but how can you investigate if you're busy being questioned?"

I looked at her confused. The Chief pointed to her window. A tall man in a black suit stood there, looking smug. He creeped me out at first sight; he looked like a cross between the Scarecrow from Batman Begins and one of the Lone Gunman from X-Files.

"I believe he wants to speak to you," the Chief stated.

I felt like I was going to my death. I was not going to show it, however. I jauntily walked to the door of the Chief's office and stepped outside.

"Hello, I'm Shawn Spencer, former Psychic Detective," I introduced myself, reaching out my hand for a handshake.

The man looked me up and down for a moment, then smiled and returned the shake. His hands were like ice. "I am Internal Affairs Investigator Reed Brown," he replied. "I must say; I have looked forward to this meeting, Mr. Spencer."

oOo

An hour later, I walked out of the police station. My composure was perfect, but my insides felt like jelly. Gus didn't say a word; he knew me well enough to know when I was about to explode.

"Where to?" he asked quietly.

"To my dad's house," I said solemnly. "I know Dad's not home today; he's out fishing, but after talking with that _man_ I need a safe place to talk to you. I wouldn't put it past him to bug the Psych office. I don't know how the Chief could have been so comfortable talking to me in her office."

"He's that bad huh?" asked Gus as he put the car in gear.

"I really don't think he's fully human," I answered nervously. "Just drive, Gus."

We broke into my dad's house, and in moments were situated in my old room with a giant bowl of Cheetos. "Here's what happened," I stated in response to Gus's expectant stare. "This man, Mr. Brown, pulled me into 'his' office. Which really isn't his; it's Juliet's and Lassie's corner, but since they are both gone he's commandeered it for his use."

"Mr. Brown? Really? You'd think they'd come up with a better pseudonym!"

I rolled my eyes. "Now's not the time to be making up words like pseudonym, Gus. Anyway, he pulls me in and says basically that he can arrest me for obstructing justice. However, he has decided not to press the matter, seeing that I am so _popular_ with the general public. No, he's showing the graciousness of the police department by letting me go free, provided that I indict Karen Vick as the mastermind behind the entire plot!"

"What?!" Gus shouted out angrily. "I cannot believe that!"

"Believe it! Gus, that man is insane; he wants the Chief's spot. I could see it in his eyes; he's hoping for a promotion or something. He's going to take the Chief out, and he's using me as his weapon of choice."

"All of this wouldn't have happened if you'd have listened to me in the first place. Remember what I said. I said, 'Shawn, don't do this; don't pretend to be a psychic to the police. It's stupid!'"

"I don't remember that," I stated.

"Well, I do. Shawn, what happens if you don't testify against the Chief?"

"Then, to quote the man in black, I will be 'riding to catch the devil's herd across these endless skies.'"

Gus blinked. "You do know you are quoting Johnny Cash, not Mr. Brown, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I honestly think he's going to put me on a horse and send me out of town. He said he'd throw me in JAIL, Gus!"

Gus was silent for a moment. "What are you going to do?" he asked eventually.

I looked back at him, my face as solemn as it's probably ever been. "Gus, we have until Friday to bust a gang!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Hi all! Thanks for the amazing reviews; they make me smile. I know the story is going on much longer than I'd ever thought, but please be patient; we are coming close. For the sake of the plot, I had to have Juliet be as uninformed as possible about current events in the S.B.P.D., but since she's been in the hospital with Lassie this whole time, I figure she has an excuse for being out of the loop. As for Shawn, I really don't hate him (this chapter _is_ kind of hard on him). Have hope; next chapter should clear things up a little.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or the characters involved.

_Juliet's POV_

I was called in by the Chief the next morning. I came into the office rather early; I had practically taken the week off, and I knew that I was neglecting Carlton's and my caseload. The ribbing I expected from the Chief never came, though. I would have preferred ten ribbings compared to what the Chief had to tell me.

"O'Hara, I'm through," she stated in a stoic voice. "Friday is my last day; Internal Affairs has advised that I resign prior to my hearing, so that my case can be dismissed and I will face no jail time."

"WHAT?!" I shouted, confused as I'd ever been. "Chief, what on earth is going on? You do know that I've been practically living at the hospital, right? I'm a bit out of the loop."

The Chief sighed and shook her head. "Because Shawn went public with the fact that he's duped the police for seven years, my department head has determined that I am to be evaluated for my fitness to command. The IA is coming here in an hour or so; there is a massive audit of all our cases relating to Shawn Spencer. As you worked closely with him, you will probably be interrogated to death. I wanted to give you advance warning."

The Chief's eyes softened then, and she looked at me with pity in her eyes. "They also will probably call out your relationship with Mr. Spencer; be prepared to have your name dragged through the mud. After all, these people aren't really the most tactful people under the sun."

I shivered; could life possibly get any worse right now?

"I have also been ordered to put you and Carlton on suspension, pending an investigation into your blown drug bust."

Apparently life could get worse. "What?! Chief, that's not fair; we did everything by the book!"

The Chief huffed and looked away. "Everything except hiring a fake psychic. O'Hara, Lassiter got shot, and the department is looking for a place to shove all the blame. I am trying to take it all on myself, but these things get messy. The last thing my superiors want is you two getting into more trouble while everything is pending investigation."

"Chief, you can't take the blame all on yourself!" I cried out. "It's just not fair! We all listened to Shawn, we all believed him. The blame should be his!"

"Mr. Spencer is very popular with the public right now, which has given him some leeway. Imagine if the department actually prosecuted Mr. Spencer for obstructing justice. We could start a political battle; possibly even a riot. It's been crazy out there this day alone; Henry Spencer informed me this morning that he's had several calls on his land-line of people asking for interviews, T.V. show specials, you name it. We prosecute, it just adds more fuel to the fire, and the IA knows that. Besides..."

Here, the Chief trailed off, looking at me with a sheepish and somewhat chagrined look. I waited patiently, taking it all in.

"Besides," she continued, "I knew Shawn wasn't psychic. Going on four years I've known it, in my heart of hearts. I've just kept him around because... well, he may be an immature jerk, but he's one of the best detectives I've ever seen."

I hung my head, not wanting to meet the Chief's eyes. I felt hollow; I had no idea what to say. So, the Chief knew Shawn's secret. Did anyone else know? Did Lassiter know? Was I the only dumb one in this entire precinct?

"I'm taking full blame," the Chief stated. "No reason to drag you or Lassiter into this mess anymore than you have to be. However, I was able to drag out your suspension date claiming that you had a case to wrap up; you have a day. As of Thursday morning, both you and Carlton are officially suspended until your hearing dates."

"What do I do?" I asked, feeling panicked. "That just gives me little more than a day; what can I possibly do to turn this situation around?!"

"You can do nothing for me," the Chief stated. "But, if I were you, I'd spend the next two days investigating what went wrong at your drug bust. That's what you two are being called on the carpet for, under the heading of reckless endangerment of other officers. If you can find proof that your bust was truly necessary, you two might manage to slide free of this one."

I was confused. "Chief; it _was_ a drug drop, right? I mean, I know we got caught in an all-out gangland shootout, but what about the four bags we eventually confiscated?"

The Chief blinked. "You mean you haven't heard yet?"

"No," I answered back, a little miffed. "I've been in the hospital all the time threatening Carlton! Besides, after he got shot on the beach I spent most of the time applying pressure until the ambulance got there, and then I went off with them."

The Chief nodded soberly. "When we had finished apprehending the gang members (you do at least remember two got away?), we opened the bags. All four of them were empty."

"_Empty_?!"

"Empty."

"Empty," I whispered. "No wonder we are being investigated; we fell for a set-up!"

"Something of the kind," the Chief answered. "And really, since it was Shawn's private investigation, he's the one who fell for the set-up. There is clearly more than meets the eye with this case; if I were you, I'd track down Mr. Spencer and demand an explanation."

I growled a growl that Carlton would be proud of. "My pleasure," I said.

oOo

First, I stopped by the hospital one last time to inform Carlton that I'd be gone for a while. I didn't tell him anything because I didn't want him to stress; he was getting better, but was not out of the woods yet. Then, I began my hunt for Shawn.

I checked the Psych office first, then, not finding him anywhere near, headed out towards Henry's house. On the way I got a text from the Chief telling me that Shawn was in a meeting with Reed Brown, the head of the investigation into the S.B.P.D. I therefore took a detour and treated myself to a real (though late) lunch; I'd need all the strength I could get to face the rest of the day. An hour later, I paid the bill and departed, being assured through a text that Shawn had left the office. I knew he'd head for Henry's; something in me just innately knew where Shawn would go. I was right; the Blueberry was parked in front of Henry's house. Henry's truck was not.

I walked up to the front door and eased it open. Shawn hadn't bothered to re-lock it after breaking in, I noticed. I heard his voice coming from upstairs; he and Gus were probably playing an Atari or something. I took a deep breath and felt my anger surge. Good. I then stormed up the stairs, screaming "SSSHHHAAAWWWNN!" at the top of my lungs. The effect was amazing; I sounded like an enraged banshee bent on vengeance. I threw open his bedroom door, certain my eyes were shooting fire. I felt like I was _made_ of fire at that moment.

I had never seen Shawn look so scared. Gus apparently passed out (or was pretending for the sake of his life) when I entered the room; at least he was slumped over against the wall. Shawn was looking at me with wide eyes, as if I had just stepped out of a nightmare. Maybe I had.

"COME HERE!" I howled as I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. "You and I have a lot to talk about and a long day ahead of us!" With that, I dragged him through the door, leaving Gus behind.

Once outside, I let Shawn go. He didn't try to run, which was good since I was not in the mood. "Get in the car," I stated.

"Jules, are you crazy?! I can't leave Gus in there all alone. When my dad gets home and finds the house broken into there'll be hell to pay."

"Get in this car, or I will shoot you Shawn." I was bluffing, of course. Shawn merely blinked and slid into the passenger seat.

"You're getting more and more like Lassie everyday," he grumbled.

We drove down to the beach, down to the spot where the S.B.P.D. had gotten in a shootout over four worthless bags. I parked the car facing the waves, and Shawn and I sat there for a moment.

"This was your bust," I stated quietly. "You were the one who gave us a tip-off. You were so sure of everything; so sure this was a drug bust. Explain this to me."

Shawn nodded and, to my immense surprise, started right off with an explanation. "About a week ago, Gus and I ordered pizza. Normally, we like the meat lovers combo or the super cheesy nacho fiesta. However, that night we were in the mood for Hawaiian, so we ordered the pizzas from the little shack that's by the beach."

"Wait a minute; by _this_ beach?" I asked.

"Yes, actually. Romano's Kahuna is actually a really good place for island pizza; it's a family run business. A single dad and his two daughters run the place. Now, when our pizza came, a distraught delivery daughter came with it. She saw the sign to our office and came in begging our help. Apparently, her sister had gone missing several days ago while taking out the trash. She had no idea where her sister had gone, and the police wouldn't look into it because the girl apparently had run off before. This delivery girl said things were different this time, though, and Gus and I were inclined to believe her. Having nothing better to do at the time, we took the case."

"When we started asking around and looking at the restaurant, though, we found out that the missing sister had actually been dating an alleged gang member. Gus and I did some more research, and found out that this particular gang was just a... courier service, if you will. They worked as intermediaries between smugglers and street dealers."

"Pack mules," I said, comprehending. "And how do you know so much about gangs all of a sudden?"

"I stole Lassie's black book off the shelf for a day," Shawn replied.

I nodded. "So that's where that was. I thought Lassiter would die; he must have asked everyone five to ten times if they'd seen his personal record book. So, what happened next?"

"Gus and I told our client about her sister, who in turn gave us the location of her sister's boyfriend's house. From his house (which was actually a shoddy apartment), we got the location of the next meeting, which just happened to be a convenient empty warehouse. After that, everything just fell into place. The night of the gang meeting, Gus was a distraction by being a lost Chinese food delivery man. While they were contending with him, I wriggled up into the rafters. I stayed up there until they sent Gus on his merry way, then I listened in on their conversation. I found out the times and where they planned their drop, then, after they were gone, I climbed back down, picked up Gus from the dumpster (the gang members had apparently been in a decent mood that night; the only thing missing was Gus's bag of Chinese food), and we headed home. The next day, I came into the S.B.P.D., and... had my 'psychic vision.'"

"And we fell for it like usual, set up the drug bust, and got caught in the crossfire between the pack mules and their... who? Buyers? Rivals? So much is missing from this story... and I don't have time," I said sadly.

Shawn jerked up at that. "What do you mean you don't have time?" he asked, concerned.

I looked back at him. I planned to say stoically that I had lost my badge, but the emotions I tried so hard to replace with anger took over like a tidal wave. Tears began welling up in my eyes, and I said in a pitiful, wavery voice, "I lost my badge."

"Oh, sweetheart," Shawn started in his most comforting voice, and he reached over for me. However, I pushed him away and practically threw my car door open. I climbed out of the car, Shawn following.

"I lost my badge because I listened to you," I said shortly. "The S.B.P.D. is in shambles now because of you. If you have any desire to redeem yourself at all, you will help me figure out what went wrong at our bust. I have the rest of today and tomorrow to wrap this all up, and if I don't clear Lassiter's name and mine, we'll be facing a board of our own."

Shawn nodded; for once he didn't say anything. How odd. I looked around the scene of our failed drug bust, and walked towards the beach. Everything stood out oddly, as if it were a little too sharp. The bathrooms where Buzz and his people took cover were still chipped from the bullet shots, and the desolate beach was adorned with nothing but another man's snack shack and a small outlet of beach side restaurants, one containing Romano's Kahuna. I walked across the parking lot to the sidewalk where our snack shack had been set up. My eyes inevitably tracked to the place where Carlton was shot; to my surprise and disgust there was still a brown stain on the sidewalk where his blood had soaked into the concrete. I tried to keep the tears back, but they were free flowing now, and in agony I fled the scene, plopped down on the sand in front of the waves, and cried my heart out.

When the tears had stopped coming, I stood again, wiped off my face with my sweater sleeve, and turned to look for Shawn. I was kind of surprised that he didn't try and comfort me again, but in a way I was glad that he had given me some space. Shawn was still standing where the snack cart had been, a puzzled look on his face. Then, to my surprise, his face brightened and he had that "I've figured it out look".

My heart felt so heavy; it's a terrible feeling when you feel both emotionally drained and hopelessly stupid. "Did you solve the case already?" I called out as I stumbled towards him.

Immediately "the look" was off Shawn's face, and he was smirking with something like embarrassment. "No, I didn't solve the case," Shawn stated.

"Then what were you smiling about?" I asked skeptically.

Shawn grinned and pointed dramatically to the snack cart a little farther down the sidewalk. "That man... is selling churros! Want one?"

I shook my head disgustedly. Shawn took off running down the beach towards the churro man, and I sighed in despair. I was quickly loosing hope that I'd ever have a badge again after tomorrow.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Whee, exposition chapter! I hope this makes sense. As guessed, Shawn has something up his sleeve... but who knows how he'll pull this one off. Thank you for all the reviews; I really appreciate them.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych and the characters mentioned with it, nor do I know of any gang called the Tiburons. If you can catch the hidden reference I'll give you a cyber cookie.

_Shawn's POV_

I lied to Juliet. Hopefully, it would be the last time I ever would have to lie to her. And at least this lie she wouldn't figure out. She couldn't... because I would never, ever tell her. You see, I really _had_ figured the case out.

To be fair, I had more of the pieces than she had. I had the piece about the missing pizza girl, her gangster boyfriend, and the courier service. I had read and remembered (most) of the information in Lassie's black book. Juliet hadn't told me, but I also knew about the four bags being empty. Reed Brown had made that fact extremely clear to me, almost talking pleasure in the fact that it was my misinformation that caused this mess.

Seeing the scene of the showdown was even more interesting, more for what _wasn't_ there. Particularly a dumpster or big trash container of any kind. You see, our client said her sister had disappeared while taking out the trash, yet there was no trash container behind the pizza shack. There were other trash containers behind the other beach restaurants, but none behind Romano's Kahuna. I found that odd. Then, as I stared at the back of the shack, I began to notice the little things. They jumped out at me like they always did. The back door of the restaurant had two screws fallen out of the hinges on the door, the stairs were crooked, and the wood was more warped than usual. There was also a strange painted mark on the door; something like a fish or a shark. It looked like a gang sign for the Tiburon's, but it wasn't drawn quite right; it didn't exactly match Lassie's book. The walkway up to the back of the restaurant was covered in sand... not like it should be if someone was maintaining the place. Puzzled, I walked around front while trying to ignore the sobs of the love of my life as she cried her heart out on the beach. I knew I wouldn't be wanted this time.

It was weird being here, because Gus and I had been here only... six days ago? We'd come to ask our client more questions about her sister, and we were going to look at the scene of her disappearance, but our client met us on the outside patio area. She told us right away that her sister had been dating a gang member, and off we went. We actually never saw _inside_ or _behind _the restaurant (Gus and I had walked up the beach from the pier). The front of the restaurant looked good; painted and in fairly good shape, however, a sign now on the door read "closed for winter". I walked up through the tables set out on the sand (they were too new looking to fit with this old shack) and peered in through the windows. They were covered with thick dark curtains; newer looking, but so heavy they blocked the view completely. I meandered over to where the snack cart that I had so happily suggested had been, thinking aimlessly that I had to ask Lassie a few questions... when everything collided together.

Oh, it was good. It was very good! Our client, in all reality, was a gang member. Her sister, or associate, or whomever had gotten either greedy or panicky and had left with whatever they were going to sell. This shack had been their base of operations... it was closed for the winter season, when there were so few tourists that it didn't make sense to run it. Mr. Romano had probably been with the gang quite some time. When I called for pizza, it must have been a crazy stroke of luck to him; here was a psychic who could find his missing... courier. He sent over his "daughter" with an understandably sub-par pizza, and we got a sob story about a missing sister. When we came to look at the restaurant the next day, Gus and I were deliberately met outside and misdirected so that we wouldn't go inside and find... an empty pizza shack? Gangster headquarters? Who knew? I bet our client was hoping we could find some clues to her "sister's" whereabouts, but instead we ended up on the wrong trail and started tracking the gang.

Meanwhile, the pack mules were in a bind; if they didn't deliver on time, they'd be wiped out. Four people were coming to meet them as per schedule, empty bags just waiting to be filled with drugs, and instead they get caught in a fire-fight instigated by the couriers! Then, to take all the heat off them, they painted another gang's sign on the door as if to blame them for the missing merchandise. It would have come off beautifully... had the S.B.P.D. not been there. As it was, the beach was turned into a "killbox," and those who were not dead were now in prison. All except two (at least, that's what Reed Brown had said). And I could guess which two it was who got away.

All this flashed through my head in an instant, but when Juliet asked me if I got it, I shook my head and lied through my teeth at her. Then, I ran off to buy a churro, hoping that if I had something to stuff in my face she wouldn't notice the smirk of satisfaction I was now sporting.

You might think that this was terrible of me; another lie from a man who can't change his stripes. Yet, I realized that if I told Juliet everything, she'd just report it to the Chief and in would come the cavalry. Everything would be wrapped up, and the IA would have hardcore proof that both the Chief and Juliet were totally useless as detectives. If _I_ solved the case, that's exactly what would happen. But if somehow, someway I could get Juliet to save the day without any help at all from me... she'd earn her badge back (and probably Lassiter's too), while the Chief would get the coveted status of busting a gang and would probably be kept on.

"Eat that Reed Brown," I thought sarcastically. I'd love to see his face when everything falls into place so neatly. The only problem was... how was I going to organize it all so Jules could be the big hero?

As Jules and I both climbed into her car and I was contentedly gnawing on my churro, an idea struck me. But... it was going to be dangerous. I looked over at Jules; she was driving now, her elegant face a mask of barely concealed pain. I knew my girl too well; she could never hide anything from me. A knife seemed to slice through my heart right then; what I was thinking of was so dangerous it could possibly kill me. Then, Jules turned her head and met my eyes for a second. They were full of pain... yet rage still seethed beneath them.

"It is the only way," I told myself sadly as Juliet looked back at the road. I only hoped that she'd forgive me for putting her through the misery of the past couple of days... and the misery of what might happen. I then settled into my thoughts, determined not to dwell on the dangers anymore. I had a lot to sort out and a very, _very _short time to do it in.

oOo

"Shawn, no! Just N-O! There is no way this brother's getting anymore involved in one of your crazy schemes."

"Come on, Gus," I whined, feeling somewhat hurt at his refusal to even help me with my plan. "It's the only way I can help Jules get her job back."

Gus shook his head at me in complete disbelief. "Shawn, let me get this straight. You want to hire someone to _anonymously _call in the police station, contact Juliet, and give her a tip that a drug deal is going down at Romano's Kahuna. Meanwhile, you are going to contact that crazy woman who had the gall to be our client and you are going to tell her that you have her stolen merchandise and will be returning it to her for a price at the exact time Juliet is going to be down there."

"Yes," I replied, unfazed.

"Okay, Shawn, not one of your brightest ideas. That plan is full of more holes than Swiss cheese."

"That's a weird analogy," I commented.

"No it's not Shawn; it makes perfect sense, you just have to build a bridge and connect it."

I frowned at him. "You build a bridge," I challenged.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn, that doesn't even make sense. Just like your plan!"

I sighed. "Hear me out," I stated. "It makes sense when you listen to it."

It was Gus's turn to sigh. "Shawn, you don't even know where the girlfriend who has the drugs is; how are you going to get the drugs to pull off your scheme?

"I know where the 'sister' is."

Gus scowled. "Stop calling her a sister, and what on earth do you mean?"

I laughed, a little bitterly. "Gus, this entire thing was a set-up from the start. First, it was a set-up by Mr. Romano and his courier service. Then, we were set-up by the sister herself! Gus, when we were in the gangster boyfriends apartment, we found the info for the gang meeting right away. What gang member would have been that stupid?!"

Gus shook his head. "Belonging to a gang is pretty stupid, Shawn; you get caught and shot like a gazelle on the savannah."

"Dude, I'm just going to pretend you never used that analogy."

"That was a simile, Shawn; I used 'like' or 'as'."

"Really? Which one did you use?" I quipped.

"Shut up, Shawn."

I grinned. "Sorry, no can do. Seriously Gus, we were only in that apartment for like, thirty seconds. I bet you that she and her boyfriend are still hanging out in there."

"Why wouldn't they just leave town?"

I shrugged. "Maybe they have some unfinished business or something; but we'll never know if we just keep sitting here. Are you in or out partner?"

Gus frowned. "I'm out!"

I laughed. "Sorry, you don't get an out," I said. "Now come on, we have to bust this thing before Juliet looses her badge the day after tomorrow!"

oOo

We got to the seedy apartment complex just at sunset, which freaked out Gus a little. Actually, I was a bit petrified myself; the shouts and screams that flowed from every corner of that dark street reminded me of the nightmares I'd had about the cabin. Gus and I plucked up our courage though and managed to knock on the door.

The time before, we had broken in with little trouble. However, I suspected that the sister had let us in easy so we could find our evidence and leave. My suspicions were correct; I heard almost five bolts being withdrawn after my knock. When the door was finally opened, we saw in the doorway a gigantic, burly man with tattoos all over his arms.

"WHAT?!" he boomed.

"Shawn, I'm gonna go wait in the car!" Gus shouted, and he ran from the door.

"Gus!" I called out. "Seriously Gus, the car's the other way!"

"I don't have all night!" the man in the doorway shouted.

"Neither do I," I boomed back cheerfully. "Does your girlfriend want to come clean to the police?" I asked.

The man stared at me. He looked as if he was considering pounding me into the ground.

"I'm Shawn Spencer, former Psychic Detective for the S.B.P.D."

"Hey, don't I know you?" the burly guy asked. "Yeah, you're that guy on the news; the one who worked with the cops for seven years and solved more cases than their head detective."

I paled a little. "It's on the news?" I muttered. I didn't know that a little newspaper article would travel that far so quickly.

"Yep; you sure know how to make an entrance. But how do I know you are going to help me? How do I even know you know what you are getting into?"

"I know about the drugs," I stated. "Trust me, they will do you no good. Already about eight people have died over them, and six more are jailed. Do you want your girlfriend in on that?"

The man pulled open his door, much more gently than I would have thought him able. "Come inside," he said gruffly. "It's a long story."

"Gus, come on!" I shouted. Gus, who had locked himself inside the Blueberry, shook his head.

"I already had to beat one thief off my tires," he shouted. "I'm staying to protect my turf, you get your intel and then let's get out of here!"

"High strung, ain't he?" asked the burly guy with a chuckle.

"You should see him after he's had an espresso," I quipped. I followed the man into his apartment.

"Here, sit," he said, gesturing to a shabby wooden chair.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Brandon," he replied, sitting down in a chair across from me.

"Okay, Brandon, please tell me know what is going on. Why on earth would you want to steal four bags of drugs? That's like painting a sign over your head that says 'kill me now!' And by the way, why are you still alive? We got your address from another gang member; why did they not come and kill you two off?"

"Told you it was a long story. My girlfriend's name is Connie Romano."

"Like Mr. Romano the pizza man?"

"He's her dad. He's being held hostage by the leader of the couriers, a chick that goes by the name of Raven."

"Oh, how cliché," I moaned. "Well, that's a turn-around for me; I thought Mr. Romano was head of the gang."

"No," Brandon continued. "He never was. He and Connie were perfectly happy running their pizza shack by the sea... until the couriers decided to use that beach as a drop zone. They made everyone pay them for 'protection,' but Connie's dad just couldn't make the payments anymore. So, they made Connie a courier. She was a courier for small stuff for months; they threatened to kill her father if she refused, and she was very obedient. That's why they let her in on the big drop. When Connie saw the amount they'd be carrying next, though, she couldn't take it on her conscience and she escaped with the drugs. She came straight to me; I'd fallen pretty badly in love with her. And I guess she changed me too, because I didn't want no more of this life either. I know it doesn't sound very convincing or strong, but I suppose people sometimes change for the ones they love; do you think people can change?"

What an eerie conversation, all things considered. "Yes," I said quietly. "I do think people can change for the ones they love."

Brandon nodded, then continued. "We didn't have much time; the gang still thought I was loyal, but they knew I loved Connie. I sent the drugs and Connie to a friend of mine who owed me a favor. No sooner was she gone then the gang came in full force. They looked everywhere but found nothing. Convinced I was clean, they told me when to meet up with them the following night. After that, I wrote out a note for Connie just in case she came looking for me, but you found the note instead."

"Did you go to the meeting?" I asked.

"Yes, but there must have been another meeting later I wasn't invited in on because I didn't know they planned to make the drop an all-out execution or I wouldn't have gone. I booked it as soon as the bullets started flying. From what I hear, the only other one who made it out was Raven."

"And she's holding Mr. Romano hostage," I stated. "Brandon, I'm gonna help you out. I'm going to tell you how to get out of all this alive, but I don't know if you'll want to do it. Get Connie, and the two of you go straight down to the police station. Put yourselves under the protection of Chief Karen Vick; tell her the whole story and say that you and Connie are willing to plea bargain. When she asks for the drugs, though, tell her your friend sold them to another buyer."

"Do you really think that'll work? It will protect Connie and me, but what about her father?"

"Leave her father to me," I replied. "I'll take the drugs to Raven and negotiate for his freedom. With you two off the streets, it'll be much easier to move about openly."

Brandon snorted. "_You'll_ negotiate with Raven?" he asked skeptically.

I grinned a crazy, Lassie-ish grin and said, "You have no idea what I'm _really_ capable of. How many more gang members are left from your... order?"

Brandon blinked at my word usage, but then shrugged. "We was always just a small courier service. The cops weren't supposed to be there on the day we were busted. There are a couple of couriers left on the street; probably the bad ones who sample too much of the product. Right now, Raven probably has them with her to keep them from spilling any info out on the street. Raven's careful like that. Then just me and Connie are left, 'sides her dad."

"Okay," I said, "I'm going to need the drugs now."

Brandon nodded, whipped out his cell phone, and made a short, three-word call in tones too low for me to hear. "They're on the way," Brandon stated after he hung up.

"Good," I replied. "Now, as soon as Connie gets here, she and you have to go straight to the police station. Do you remember who to report to?

"Chief Karen Vick."

"Right. And Brandon, would you do me a favor?"

Brandon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?" he asked.

"Don't mention my name _at all _to Chief Vick, okay? Say it was your own idea to come in and give yourselves up; I'm in enough trouble with the police as it is."

Brandon smirked. "I dig that, dude! Psyching out the Popo for seven years; I'd have loved to see the looks on their faces when they found that out! I can't believe they are still letting you work with them, man."

I shrugged. "I guess it's the hair," I stated knowingly. "Too many people find my hair irresistible. I don't think the Chief could have faced the days knowing she'd never see my fluffy coiffure again."

"Whatever, man," Brandon laughed. "You're one weird dude, you know that? But if everything works out, you'll be living the high life in no time with those skills of yours."

Though I grinned back at him, his words seemed to echo oddly in my head. _If everything works out._ "I sure _hope_ everything works out," I thought edgily, then I stuffed the worry to the deepest corner of my mind and resolved not to think about it anymore until it was all over. I had work to do.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **Next chapter, hooray! Sorry it's taking so long, but it's really hard to find time to write when it's the end of the school year. Thankfully, we are arriving at the home stretch (on both occasions). Thank you so much for all the nice reviews!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them. Sigh.

_Juliet's POV_

After I dropped Shawn off back at his father's house, I drove. Just drove. I need sometime to be by myself, sometime to sort out everything. Unfortunately, there were so many confusing pieces to this puzzle; it made no sense. Why would anyone bring four empty bags to a drug drop? Presumably, the bags belonged to the couriers, but why were they empty? Surely they didn't think it would escape their buyer's notice that the bags were empty. Maybe the bags had belonged to the buyers, then. But then who had been the other group of people? A rival gang? So many questions... and so little time. Only a day to find the answers to them all, and I had no idea where to start! My poor tired brain felt like it had missed something, but I had been too upset to see.

"Maybe I'm just a bad detective," I thought glumly. I sure felt like one. Before I knew the truth about Shawn, I had never really felt bad when Shawn solved the cases; after all, I thought he had supernatural powers! But now I knew the truth, that Shawn was just a con man with incredible observation skills... it made me feel like a really terrible detective. How much had I missed over the years?

I turned into a gas station to fill up; it was getting late, and I was miles out of town. I needed to head back to the station and see how the investigation was progressing, then stop back by the hospital to see how Carlton was doing. Maybe I could look up a couple of our informants; we always had a mole or so that needed money badly, and could help us out. Then suddenly, as I was pumping the gas and looking absentmindedly at the gas station's open hours sign, I had... a vision,

Well, that's what Shawn would have called it. In reality, that nagging piece of information my brain kept overlooking suddenly hit me like a lightning bolt. _"The sign!" _I thought with a shiver. "The sign at Romano's Kahuna; I'd seen it but it hadn't registered. There had been a sign there and it had said 'Closed', but it wasn't an ordinary closed sign. The sign had read _Closed for Winter_. And it's been winter for a month and a half!"

I finished at the pump, quickly paid with my credit card and zoomed back out onto the freeway. Shawn had said he and Gus had ordered a pizza, yet if the restaurant had been closed for winter, where had the pizza come from? "You were duped, Shawn," I thought, feeling a sadistic pleasure at the thought that I knew something before he did. And unlike Shawn, who usually needed to manipulate the police force into taking action before anything could be done, I had the power to get the wheels turning.

Quickly, I turned on the police radio in my car. "This is O'Hara, calling for McNabb. Buzz, are you still on duty?"

I waited a moment, then was gratified to hear a reluctant, "Yes... what is it O'Hara?"

"Can you swing by Romano's Kahuna pizza tonight? I know it's not your usual beat, but I have an idea that there is something there that will break Lassiter's and my case wide open."

"I'll go by... where are you Detective?"

I bit my lip. Technically, I wasn't supposed to be this far out of town, even though the Chief had taken my name off the roster . "About forty minutes out," I answered evenly.

"Acknowledged," Buzz answered in an understanding voice. "Though, if I were you O'Hara, I'd get back as soon as I could... I hear tell the nurses in the hospital are going to throw Lassiter out if something isn't done."

I rolled my eyes; that's all I needed. "Great, well, thanks for telling me Buzz. And Buzz, take extreme caution at the pizza shack; there may be hostiles."

"Acknowledged. I'll let you know what I find; call you in twenty. Buzz out."

oOo

Twenty minutes later exactly, Buzz called back.

"What did you find?" I asked, not really sure of what to expect.

"Not much," came his reply. "There was really nothing there; the back door was open because the hinges were broken off, so we peeked inside. It's just an empty shack as far as I can tell; there is nothing inside but a few decrepit tables and chairs. There is one interesting thing, however."

"What's that?" I asked.

"There's something painted on the back door itself; it looks like a gang sign. Like a shark, or something. Sound familiar?"

I thought hard for a moment. "The Tiburons are the only ones I know that use a shark sign; usually they don't strike in this area of Santa Barbara."

"Maybe they're branching out."

"Maybe," I affirmed. "That would make sense, though; remember the shootout? It _was_ like we were in the middle of a turf war."

"That's true," Buzz agreed. "Though their leader must be one tough nut job; the thugs we have in custody aren't saying a word. It's as though they are terrified; I doubt even Lassie could get a confession out of these guys."

"That's odd," I said, spying my turn-off for the city. "Usually, gang members aren't so afraid to go to jail because they've got friends there."

"Maybe their boss doesn't like failure. Either way, there's nothing more that can be learned here."

I pondered this information as I wove around a few slower cars. "Well, thanks for checking up on things Buzz. There are a couple of things still that don't add up... but I doubt a door can tell us more."

Buzz signed out with me, and I covered the last ten minutes of drive time in silent thought. So if it was a turf war that morphed out of a drug drop, where were all the pack mules when this went down? "Probably they were late," I thought, though it seemed a poor thought to structure a theory on. Drug dealers were not late; drops were often very precise so the exchange could be as quick as possible. However, I really didn't see any other way. Maybe the couriers _had_ been there; it was just difficult to spot them in the chaos of the shootout. If that was the case, then there'd still be four backpack-sized loads of drugs out there... and if I could find them, I'd break the case of the year!

oOo

I decided to stop by the hospital first; I wanted to look in on Carlton and yell at him about his treatment of the nurses. When I arrived at Carlton's floor, the nurse at the duty station gave me a giant, almost half-crazed grin and said, "Welcome back! We needed you!"

I stopped in surprise and asked warily, "What has he been doing?"

The nurse rolled her eyes and said, "Only accusing each and every one of my nurses of attempted murder after every breathing check. You'd think he was being tortured to death; we're only trying to make sure he doesn't get pneumonia, but he doesn't seem to understand that. Thankfully, he sleeps most of the time in between checks, but as he needs to keep coughing hourly, we have to keep waking him up and I'm afraid he's already ran off one nurse... he tried to get out of bed to tackle her, though I think he was trying to grab the spirometer. We don't want to sedate him either; we need him to keep clearing his lungs, and as he's on a ton of pain medication I worry that it's already made him a little crazy... sedation would set him back."

I smiled my most diplomatic smile. "Carlton was crazy to begin with. Don't worry," I said calmly. "I'll pop in and scare the living daylights out of him for you."

The nurse flashed me a grateful smile, and I meandered into Carlton's room. I wondered that they hadn't paired him with a roommate yet, but I figured that the doctors and nurses valued the sanity of their other patients. Carlton was sleeping peacefully, his bed propped up into a recliner's position, however there was a paler sheen to his skin that hadn't been there before. It worried me, and I was not about to see my partner on his deathbed again. Besides, there were things I needed to ask him.

I walked up to his bedside, allowed him one more moment of peace, then punched his arm.

"Mmm?" Carlton mumbled, drowsily opening his eyes.

"Wow," I thought to myself, "they must have you on the really good pain medication." Out loud, I said, "Carlton, wake up, it's time to cough."

"Mmm, no, not... you too O'Hara! Seriously... enough is enough... I haven't had a ... decent sleep since I was fighting my fever... or something... and now everyone is constantly... waking me up... and I'm just so tired... and every time I wake up... there's this big black bird flying around... why is there a big black bird flying around?"

I blinked; what had happened to my once-coherent partner?! I suppose sleep deprivation combined with heavy drugs would do that to a person, but still; it was Carlton. His face looked confused; almost upset, and I worried that he was about to either shout or burst into tears. I changed my tactic then; I _was_ going to yell at him, but I didn't have the heart to. Instead, I walked behind him, pushed him forward, and pounded his back as hard as I could. I knew what I was doing; my mother always used to do this to us when we were kids and had colds. It made the phlegm loosen up.

Loosen up it did; Carlton let out a barrage of coughs and finally managed to spit out a wad of phlegm into the trash near his bed. As he settled back down, he gave me the world's most pitiful look and said, "traitor."

I grinned. "I can't help it, Carlton; you're just so much fun to torture," I said lightly. Then, I settled myself on the edge of his bed, facing him. "I need some help," I said gently. "I have a day to break our case, Carlton."

Lassiter blinked. "What case?"

Oh, that was right. I hadn't told him about it yet. I took a deep breath and filled Carlton in on everything that was going on in the police station, Reed Brown and all. I covered all the events (case related only, of course; I wasn't ready to talk about Shawn yet) up to Buzz checking the pizza shack and finding nothing but a graffiti shark.

"Do you recognize the sign?" I asked.

"Sounds like... the Tiburons," Carlton answered. "They are the only ones who use a shark on the West Coast... though why they are up this far in Santa Barbara... I don't know."

I nodded. "I wondered about that too," I said quietly. "I mean, that entire shootout was really strange. With nothing in the bags, what was everyone fighting over? And where were the pack mules then? The whole thing is just too weird."

Carlton nodded, and after a moment of thought said, "Oh. It's a raven."

"What?" I asked, completely confused.

"Well, I don't know if... you've noticed O'Hara... but these drugs have made me a little loopy. But I keep seeing... this big black bird... in my dreams or something... and I think it's a raven."

"Really?" I asked, unsure of where to go from there. "Huh. Those must be some pretty intense drugs, then."

"It's more then that..." Carlton continued. "I keep dreaming of the... shootout... and I keep having nightmares... that you are getting hit. But every time I gun down the... shooter, he shouts... 'raven'! Strange isn't it, O'Hara?"

"Strange," I agreed. "Maybe it means something."

Carlton nodded, relaxing back again against the pillows. "Please... don't get shot O'Hara; it's no fun," he moaned, his eyes sliding shut.

I smiled a sad smile, squeezed his hand, and slid off the bed. "I'll let you get some rest now," I stated. "But Carlton, don't give the nurses any more trouble. I don't want to solve this case for us, only to get the call that you've died of pneumonia. When they tell you to cough, _you have to cough_."

"Okay, I will," he said again in a faraway voice. "Watch your back, O'Hara, she's got a gun..."

After that statement, Carlton was out. I put a comforting (I hoped) hand on my partner's head for a moment, then turned to leave. I had some research to do on the Tiburons.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note**: Hi all! Hope everything is going well, and that this chapter finds you in good spirits. We are coming close now, about four more chapters to go. Sorry it turned into such a long project, but the story kind of had a mind of its own. And of course, it's off canon now, but I still would like to see Henry and Shawn have this conversation someday.

**Disclaimer: **The characters of Psych are not mine.

_Shawn's POV_

It seemed to take Connie forever to get here; the whole time I was on edge. Raven might have been a powerful player, but even she couldn't be everywhere at once. I knew we'd be safe as long as she kept Connie's dad alive for hostage use, but that didn't stop her from making a call to a friend asking them to take out Brandon. Brandon seemed to be the most useless part of this triangle; and as my father once said, "Son, in a hostage situation, if you cannot give someone a reason _not_ to kill you, you might as well dig your own grave." I felt as if I were in a glass house, just waiting for someone to drive by and take a shot.

After an hour, even I began to loose my cool. Which is saying _a lot_! I'm sure I didn't show it, though I blandly asked how far away this friend of Brandon's lived.

"Bout an hour outside the city, in the country. You don't think I'd let her stay in the city, do you?"

"No," I muttered. This changed things a little; it was getting to be around eight at night. For even Chief Vick to be there at this hour was pushing things; in fact, Reed Brown probably shut her office down every night to make sure she wouldn't "tamper" with any prospective evidence. And my plan wouldn't work nearly so well if Brandon and Connie went into the station with just anybody; someone else could get the credit.

"At this rate," I said quietly, "Chief Vick will be gone for the evening. Though I have not doubt she'd come in once she heard the reason, there are certain people who I'd rather you not encounter first, if that makes sense."

"Dirty cops?" asked Brandon.

"The dirtiest," I confirmed. "We need a place to wait out the evening; a place where you are safe. In the morning, you can turn yourselves in. Raven would be expecting you to try and break cover in the night, anyway, so she might have an assassin waiting by the station. If you go in broad daylight, though, we might catch her of guard."

"Sounds safer, I guess. But where will we go?"

I frowned. "The Psych office is out of the question; Raven delivered a pizza there; she knows where it is. Gus wouldn't take us to his place in a million years; I'm his best friend and I haven't seen the inside of his apartment for like, six years... But hey, not to worry, I know of the perfect place!"

Suddenly, outside, there was a screech of tires. Brandon ran to the door, and before I could warn him, he threw it open. I expected a shower of bullets, but when none came I peeked out the door. Brandon was running towards a beat up Honda civic that had paused only long enough for a slight figure carrying four bulky bags to leap out. The car picked up speed and flew down the rest of the street out of sight, and the girl that had gotten out jumped into Brandon's arms.

"Okay," I said, running up behind them. "Sorry to break this moment, but we need to get out of the open."

I looked across the street over to where Gus had been parked... and stared. Gus was driving the Blueberry in circles! Tight circles, like a fish would make in a fish bowl. He actually had a crowd gathered; several had brought out chairs and were watching the spectacle with amusement.

Brandon groaned. "Is that our ride? Man, that is way conspicuous; we're gonna get burned before we even get outta here!"

I heard a whimper from the shadow beside him, and he whispered, "Don't worry baby, I'll make sure nobody gets to you."

I sighed, whipped out my phone, and called Gus. I fully did not expect him to answer, for it's against the law in California to talk on the phone while driving (if you could call what Gus was doing driving). However, I knew he'd hear my ring and (hopefully) could come over. The Blueberry turned a couple more circles, then straightened out and rolled across the street to us.

"Get in," I said, and Connie and Brandon threw the bags in and jumped in the back before I even finished speaking the two words. I jumped in the passenger seat, and off we shot (well, Gus's version of shooting).

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Shut up Shawn! I didn't know it would take you so long; people kept trying to get at my tires; it was like the zombie apocalypse! I finally had to keep moving, so I drove in circles till you showed up."

"Dude, when did you start driving in circles?"

"Like, ten minutes after you went in. Shawn, you owe me a tank of gas. And who are these people? Are we getting carjacked?!"

Brandon's gruff voice broke in, laced with amusement. "No moron, if this was a carjacking, you'd already be out of the car. Shawn's taking us to a safe house tonight, and tomorrow we are turning ourselves in for plea bargaining."

"Safe house? Where are we going Shawn?'

I grinned. "To the safest place I know; home sweet home."

oOo

Gus had severe doubts that my dad would entertain these two guests, but I thought up a story that would top any story I yet had. We stopped in front of my dad's house at around eight thirty, and I briefed them on what to say (or not say). Brandon looked skeptical the entire time, but I just figured he was jealous that he couldn't come up with a story such as mine.

We entered the house at around eight forty-five. Or knocked on the door rather. My dad opened the door with an irritated look. "Oh, so now you're knocking," my dad growled.

"May I come in?" I asked while pushing past him.

He rolled his eyes. "Shawn, I don't mind you breaking in once in a while, but can you at least clean up your Cheeto mess and crush your soda cans before you go? I mean seriously, you're like forty now."

"I'm thirty-five, dad, and not about to discuss age with you, as you're like a hundred."

My dad looked suspiciously at Brandon and Connie, still standing on the threshold looking confused. "Who are these people?"

"Friends of Gus's," I replied. Gus nodded helpfully and smiled the fakest smile ever. "Gus met Brandon through one of his Jamaican scrabble friends; Brandon is new in from Jamaica and still doesn't know how to speak English. This is his wife, Rosa, new in from Italy. They met escaping Cuba together."

My dad smiled and said, "Have a seat. Not on my sofa, over at the table."

Brandon, Connie, and Gus walked over to the table and sat down, looking stiff and uncomfortable. My dad pulled me over to the table, shoved me down, then stood there glaring at the four of us.

"Shawn, that is the worst story I believe you ever told."

"Why?" I said, feeling put-out. If anything, I was a great story-teller.

"Shawn, seriously, this Brandon guy is not from Jamaica. He's not even black!"

"There can be white Jamaicans," I said defensively.

"Sure there can, but the probability of a white Jamaican meeting an Italian immigrant and then proceeding to flee from Cuba is so low I don't know why you even bothered. This has something to do with your case, doesn't it?"

I blinked. "What case, I don't have a case."

"I spoke to the Chief today, which was why I went out fishing. I needed some time to process what you did, and some time to be away from the five thousand reporters that have called! Seriously, Shawn, I don't even know why you bother trying to clean up this mess. You gave me all this talk about coming clean, then you pull a stunt like this. Your stupid news article did the trick; everything came down to you tricking the police. You couldn't just quit and go quietly, no, you had to go out with a bang! But that's how it is with you; it's always about you you YOU!"

I felt like my father was pushing a knife into me. Repeatedly. Gus shot me a sympathetic stare, and Brandon and Connie looked around, probably wishing to be anywhere else but here. Then, something in me snapped.

"Dad," I said firmly, standing up. I looked straight into his eyes. "I know I can't go back and make things right... but I can try my hardest to fix the mess I made. And by golly, even if it kills me, I _will_ make things right!"

My dad stared at me, eyes as wide as an owls. Everyone else was looking at me too; I wondered what they were seeing.

"Now," I said, taking charge. "Brandon and Connie need a place to spend the night. Dad, I know you want out of this, but I promise they will be out an in the police department by ten tomorrow. If you want, I can pay you standard hotel rates for their stay."

Gus's eyes widened at that, and Brandon and Connie looked at me with new respect. My dad shook his head. "That won't be necessary," he said gruffly.

I nodded. "Alright," I said quietly. Then, I looked over at Brandon. "I'm going to head out to find a pay phone now to make your call, Brandon. I need _her_ number. I'll be back soon; don't set one _foot_ out of this house. Don't let those four bags out of your sight. And don't talk to anyone who calls; better yet, the two of you, don't talk at all."

oOo

Brandon gave me his cell phone, and I wrote down Raven's number on a post-it. I then pocketed the post-it, made sure he and Connie were situated up in the guest room, got Gus situated in my old bedroom, and promptly left for a convenience store. It's quite difficult to trace pay phones (at least, that's what movies would have us believe), and I planned on using one to make my call to Raven. However, I was worried that she'd be able to look up area codes with the payphone, so I took a couple of buses to get to a completely different part of the city before I made the call. By the time I finally found a pay phone (they are kind of hard to find now that the cell phone has taken over the world), it was pushing eleven-thirty at night.

I picked up the post-it and dialed the number. It took me three tries because my hands were so shaky. I took a deep breath and steadied myself; I was _going _to make this call.

The phone rang. One... two... three... four... "_Hello?_"Raven answered. At least, I sure hoped it was Raven.

"_Raven?_"I asked in a raspy, whispery voice. Not at all a voice like mine; I scared myself with how creepy and distorted I was able to make myself sound.

"_Yes_," she replied.

"_I have something you want_," I said in a sing-songy tone, my voice rasping all the while.

There was a pause, during which I was afraid she was going to hang up. "_What could I possibly want?_" she asked finally with a growl.

"_Four bags, filled with the stuff dreams are made of_," I replied.

There was another pause. "_Who are you?_"Raven asked.

"_That's no fair telling_," I said with a dry chuckle. "_Let's just say I'm an old friend of Connie's, helping her climb out of... a pit so to speak. Tell me, how is Mr. Romano's health?_"

Another pause. This woman was the queen of dramatic pauses. "_He's alive_," she replied at last.

"_Give me proof_," I said.

"_No_."

"_Put him on the phone, or you'll have nothing! I can sell these bags just as well as you can; maybe even get a better price. If you want your merchandise, you have to prove the old man is alive._"

Another pause. This was getting tedious! "_Fine_," she spat, and a moment later I heard Mr. Romano on the phone.

"_Is Connie okay?_"he asked; his voice trembled. He sounded weary but unhurt; I was sure it was Mr. Romano; I'd heard his voice when ordering pizza before.

"_For now she's okay,_"Raven spat, her voice back on the phone. "_Proof enough for you_?"

"_Proof enough,_" I responded lightly. "_Now, let's get down to business. I have a trade to make... these four bags for Connie's father, alive. No bargaining, no other deals. You will meet me at Romano's pizza shack tomorrow evening at ten o'clock sharp. Bring Connie's father with you, and no one else. If you come alone, I will kill you. If you come with someone else other than Mr. Romano, I will kill you. I'm experienced in these things; believe me, you _don't_ want to try and cross me."_

There was another long pause, in which I hoped I'd said the right thing.

"_This man must be worth a lot to you, if you truly know the value of the merchandise you are holding_," Raven answered slyly. "_How can it be that Connie, who'd never done a damn thing wrong in her life, suddenly has such a powerful friend?_"

I grinned, that was the opening I was waiting for. "_Well_," I answered back, "_since you asked so nicely, let me just say that any friend of Brandon's is a friend of mine._"

Raven let out a curse; she was trapped! She knew Brandon had lived his whole life (or nearly all of it) in the gang scene; of course he'd have friends.

"_I'll do as you ask, exactly to the letter_," she replied when her temper finally receded.

"_You'd better_," I said, the rasp in my voice beginning to hurt. "_You _don't_ want to know what I do to people who double cross me._" Then, I hung up the phone. We were set!

oOo

I was up before sunrise; actually, I had never really gone to bed. I got back to my dad's house at around one-ish (I didn't know that buses actually _stop_ running at specific times!). When I got back, my dad was drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. I nodded to him stiffly and climbed up the stairs to my old bedroom. I stepped over the futon where Gus was sleeping and laid down in bed. I didn't bother to change out of my clothes; the effort wasn't worth it. Once I was comfortable, though, I couldn't get to sleep. I just stared at the ceiling wondering what was happening to me. The hours ticked away; it was three, then four, then five. Finally, I could not take it anymore, and I climbed out of bed. I headed quietly downstairs... and froze. My father was sitting in an armchair facing the door, a baseball bat in his hands.

"You're up early," he commented gruffly. "Probably for the first time in your life."

"What are you doing down here?" I asked. "It's cold; have you been here all night?"

"I've been guarding," he replied. "Shawn, you're in way over your head here."

I nodded and looked out the living room window; the first rays of dawn were streaking the sky. They were blood colored.

"Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning," my dad murmured. "Not a good sign."

I shook my head, then tried to smile lightly. "I don't believe in signs," I said. "That's why I always get parking tickets."

To my immense surprise, my dad began to laugh. "You know what I like about you Shawn; you always have a great sense of humor," my dad said softly.

I stared at him. There was no trace of sarcasm there, no ill-disguised contempt. "You're serious," I whispered.

He snorted. "Of course I'm serious, I'm always serious. That is my main trait. Son, I'm a hard man. I know it's been hard for you... it's been hard for me too... and I know you hate these conversations, so I'll get to the point. Son, last night I saw _conviction_ in your face. You were contrite; you were sorry about what you did, and you were aiming to fix it. I've _never_ seen that in you before. Son, last night, you became a man."

I blinked, feeling immensely uncomfortable and yet... loved at the same time. "Okay, dad, I have no idea how to answer to that!"

"Don't," my dad said. "Just take it like a man."

There was silence as I stood with my back to my dad, looking out the window, while he continued to stare at the front door. We both knew what this day might bring... even though my dad had no idea what I was planning, he had lived through the quiet before a storm too many times not to recognize when something was about to break. And as for me... I was planning to do something so dangerous, it was impossible not to feel like I had swallowed a leaden weight.

"Dad!" I said, my voice coming out in a panicked squeak. I cursed myself inwardly, then said again in a much calmer voice, "Dad, if... if I don't get a chance to say this again... I... well... I love you, okay?"

My dad was silent for quite some time, and I waited for the barrage of insults to come my way. None came. Finally, as I was wondering if he had drifted off to sleep or something, I heard him whisper back, "I love you too, son."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's note: **Short chapter for today; yay for building suspense. Thank you so much for the reviews; they help spur me on.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or its characters.

_Juliet's POV_

My research on the Tiburons came out to a dead end. There was no information anywhere that said they'd ever been up this far geographically. I worked long into the evening, but to no avail, and finally I threw down the files I had just finished reading in disgust, picked up my purse, and headed home. I felt like I hadn't slept for years, yet I almost opted to pull an all-nighter. I had one day left to save Carlton's and my badges... and life was beginning to look bleak.

I got into the police station at nine-thirty the next morning. I was determined to find something that would give me a break; anything at this point would be helpful. One hour clicked by, slowly and painfully. I felt the world's heaviest weight in my stomach; I dreaded midnight when my badge would be taken from me and I'd be put on suspension. Every minute seemed to fly by; a minute to me was like a drop of rain in the desert, which would hit the parched ground and be instantly swallowed, never to be seen again. It didn't help that it was still chaos inside the police station; files were everywhere, and Reed Brown was stalking through the building like a tiger on the hunt. He even had the gall to appropriate my desk; I had to use Lassiter's, which was fine except I didn't understand my partner's desktop organization system. Figuring it out took a large portion of the hour that flew by way too fast.

And then ten-thirty rolled around. The Chief's office door swung open, and I heard her shout out "O'HARA!" I jumped up, half of me relieved at the break and the other half already lamenting the time it was going to take to make it up. Two people were sitting in the Chief's office; one was a tall, burly, tattoo-covered Caucasian male while the other was a short, small woman... maybe Italian?

The Chief beamed at me, ran over to the door I had just come through, and slammed it shut. "O'Hara, meet the break we've been waiting for!" the Chief said happily.

I stared at the two people. "Chief, I'm sorry but I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I'm Brandon," the big guy stated, "and this is my girl Connie. We're coming clean; we want a plea-bargain. You see, we want out!"

"Out of what?" I asked confused.

The big man grinned. "Everything," he stated. Then, he began to tell his story.

A half-hour later, I sat there in shock. I had just heard the craziest story ever; one brazen courier service had gone up against the gangs by pinning the theft of one of their own on a rival gang. Yes, such a thing was done before, but never in my life did I imagine that the people responsible for the theft would be sitting here, in the Chief's office, promising us names and evidence to go along with them. We could bring down the courier service with this, along with several other gang bosses! Such a turn-around would be sure to secure the Chief's position through this whole investigation; what perfect timing fate had! It was as if everything was being handed to us on a silver platter! Everything except for...

The drugs. The Chief would be sure to get her job back now (she had enough info to organize massive busts for months to come), but what about mine? Carlton and I had been responsible for finding the bags; if the drugs never turned up, we'd still be on suspension for following a faulty lead. Though the Chief would go to bat with us, she'd be on thin ice already. Her position wasn't solid yet, though I knew she could play the political game as well as any government official.

"So," I asked when Brandon finished his narrative, "what happened to the drugs?"

"They were handed off to one of my friends, to be used for negotiating for Connie's dad's release."

Great. That was just wonderful. "Some change of heart," I sneered. "If you'd really wanted to change your ways, you'd be bringing the bags in with you."

Connie looked up at me then, pleading in her eyes. "Detective, haven't you ever loved anyone?" she asked, her voice strongly accented. "Wouldn't you move mountains for the one you love? My father and Brandon are the only two people I have left in this world. Brandon is safe; my father is not. Should I leave him to the clutches of the woman _you_, as a police force, failed to protect us from?"

I scowled, though resolved not to say any more. I really had no good answers for Connie's question, other than it would be more convenient for the police department in general if they had brought along their evidence.

"So, when is this trade going down then? Who is your friend?" I asked instead.

Brandon grinned at me, his expression reminding me of a shark's. "I don't tell the names of my friends," he answered cryptically. "I will tell you everything about the gangs and give you enough tips to keep you busy for the rest of the year... but I can't tell you about my crew."

The Chief looked at me and motioned me to step aside. "Do you have enough evidence to break your case then?" she asked quietly.

I smiled ruefully. "Enough to file it away; this case is now broken so wide you can drive a car through it. However, without the drugs I'm not sure what I can do..."

At that moment, McNabb thrust his head into the office. "Sorry to break in like this, but it's urgent."

"What is it, McNabb?" asked the Chief.

"There's a person on the anomalous tip line wanting to talk to Detective O'Hara; they say they know something about a drug drop."

I blinked; this timing was even more perfect! Almost as if... it had been orchestrated somehow. "Be right there," I said aloud, and I all but raced for a desk phone. Buzz followed me, a grin on his face.

"Line five," he said. I nodded, then pressed line five and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Ms. Juliet O'Hara?" a heavily southern-accented female voice sounded from the other end.

"Speaking," I answered. "I hear you have information about a drug drop."

"Yeah, one that's going down tonight. At ten o'clock sharp tonight at the Kahuna pizza place down by the beach."

My heart skipped a beat. "Who are you, and how did you come by this information?" I asked incredulously.

"Who I am ain't none of your concern, lady, I'm on the anonymous tip line! I want no money; just justice to be done. And I come by this info by overhearing something said on the street today; one of my customers at the coffee shop is a regular tripper and kept babbling about a drug swap going down at ten tonight at the Kahuna."

"Oh, I see," I said. I felt as though I had won the lottery.

There was a pause while I reveled in my windfall, then the lady said, "Listen, is that all you need? 'Cause I really gotta go now; I've got tables to wait on."

"Thank you so much for your info; it really helps!" I said, shaking my head to bring myself back to earth.

The lady snorted. "Well, all I care about is you guys getting those punks brought in. My son used to be one of them, till the drugs killed him off. I've hated deals ever since. Catch those guys!"

"I will!" I promised back; then I heard a click in my ear. The phone was dead; she hung up.

"It's impossible," I whispered to myself. "Nothing ever falls into place like this by accident; it's almost as if the entire thing has been meticulously planned out!"

"That's nonsense," I scolded myself in return. "Who would ever put something like this together? It's just a coincidence." Still, my hands shook slightly as I replaced the phone on the receiver. I looked up at the clock; eleven a.m. I had eleven hours left to mobilize units and get the bust underway; it would be tight but I could make it.

"BUZZ!" I called out.

"What?!" he looked around the corner at me, startled. Everyone else in precinct was looking at me too, but I didn't care. I was too elated to care. "Buzz, help me get everyone mobile," I stated. "We are going to have the world's biggest drug-bust tonight!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: **Enjoy the chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or its characters.

_Shawn's POV_

"Did I do alright?" the street actress asked as she hung up the payphone. "I mean, I really try hard when it comes to accents, but all I can usually get is a southern one. It's the best one for me anyway, because when I get nervous I tend to go southern."

I smiled at her. "You did very well; I'll be sure to mark extra points on your evaluation.

She nodded, her eyes wide. "Well, Mr. Santana, I'm impressed at your agency. I mean, I've auditioned for shows before, but to actually have an audition where you call in and it sounds _exactly_ like a police station is a new experience for me. Hope I didn't flub the script any."

"You did fine," Gus said, giving the girl his creepy I-think-you're-hot-and-_I_-think-I've-got-game-smile.

I rolled my eyes; we didn't have time for Gus to make a play. "Yes, well, we'll call you if anything turns up. If we don't call you, though..."

The actress smiled a sunny smile and replied, "That's showbiz! You could at least give me ten dollars, though."

Gus narrowed his eyebrows. "What for?"

She shrugged. "I'm a street actress, and business has been bad today. If you still want me around to film your show in the future, I'm gonna need to eat sometime."

I smiled at her; here was a con-artist in my own line. "Gus, pay the woman."

"What?!"

I glared at him. He glared back at me. We then had our infamous vocal fight; one where I said a whole bunch of stuff and he said a whole bunch of stuff but none of us actually said any words. Finally, Gus gave the girl a ten.

"Been a pleasure!" she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

I smiled and smacked Gus's shoulder, and the two of us strolled back to the Blueberry. "Where to next?" Gus asked warily.

"Where else; lunch!" I answered happily.

We ate a quick lunch at a fast-food drive through, then continued going on our errands for the evening. The next errand was to make a stop by the paper; I had another news story I wanted my editor-friend to print. Then, we went about getting the supplies we needed for that night; black masks, running clothes, a dozen sets of smoke bombs and a lighter from a magic shop, a black backpack, some tethers from a hardware store, and two hunting protection vests from a sports store (they were the closest we could get to bullet-proof vests). Gus raised his eyebrows at some of the stuff, grumbling as we finished our shopping that the cost for all of our items could buy us a small house free and clear. At around two, we were set and ready to go; we swung back around to my dad's house, grabbed the bags (that, true to his honor, he didn't look in) and my dad's binoculars, and headed over to the Kahuna Pizza. I knew it would take Jules some time to set up another drug bust, but I had a lot of planning and prep-work in order to get the place ready for tonight's event, and I knew the cops would be getting there to set up cameras anywhere in the neighborhood between five and eight. That left only three hours to set the stage. Before I could begin, though, there was something I had to do first.

When we pulled up in the parking lot, I cleared my throat. "Gus," I said formally. "There are a few things I've never told you. One of them is that I admire goldfish crackers; they are like baby Doritos only healthier. The other thing I've never told you is that I'm a compulsive liar."

Gus laughed. "Shawn; seriously, no surprise there."

I scowled. "You could have at least _pretended_ to be surprised. Anyway, though, I have to let you know that what we are doing tonight is going to be extremely dangerous... more than anything we've ever done yet."

"Really?" Gus asked sarcastically. "Will it be more dangerous than being trapped in a mine? Being strapped to a chair with an insane guy who wants to inject you? Being attacked by an axe murderer in a drained swimming pool?"

I blinked. "The last option was your fault," I pointed out. "Gus, I mean it. This is going to be really dangerous, serious jou jou. If you want an out, I really will give you one in all honesty."

"Really?"

"Really. No questions asked, no bad feelings. Gus, we could die tonight, and I want you to be fully aware of this just in case I have to carry your shattered broken body to a hospital for medical care."

"That's sick Shawn."

"No, I believe broken bones are actually an injury, not an illness. Now, are you in or out?"

"I'm in."

"Really? Cause..."

"Really! Now Shawn, what _exactly_ are we doing with all the junk we bought?"

oOo

What exactly was a good question. Fortunately, for me, one of the many short-term jobs I held was as a magician's assistant. I only held that job for a week or so, but I learned how to disappear using nothing but smoke bombs for misdirection. Actually, it was usually more complicated than that (it involved a trap door) but I had an idea about how to re-fit the Kahuna for tonight's performance. I had been in there a couple of times in the past, which was a bonus for me because I knew the layout of the shack.

Gus and I entered the shack quietly; I was certain the S.B.P.D. was not out here yet. I couldn't be too sure about Raven, however, the shack was deserted. It was a really simple restaurant; just the basic counter and a kitchen, since most of the seating was out on the beach. Our show would go down in the main room, which was a small, slim rectangle.

"Tight working space," I muttered. Gus nodded in agreement. After we walked the length of the main room (about thirty feet), I nodded in satisfaction.

"It's going to be tight, Gus. Let's get everything out of the Blueberry; we don't have any time to loose!

Though I said this mainly for dramatic emphasis, I was right. We lost some time at the start; we hit a couple of snags getting everything set. The first thing I did was fill the empty black backpack with smoke bombs. Gus and I then tethered the four black bags with the real drugs up into the rafters of the ceiling. It took us a while to get them suspended up there just so; I wanted the drugs to drop to the ground after the smoke bombs went off, and to orchestrate that I had to tie another tether to the wall. For the timing to come off perfectly, I'd have to cut the tether with my pocket knife at the right time.

The most frustrating snag was the exit, though. I knew Jules would have the sense to order the front and back doors covered. Therefore, I'd have to use a side door, and since there wasn't one, I'd have to make one. So far, my "stage" was set up in the narrow opening between the counter and the side wall (the side wall connected to a small alleyway between the Kahuna and another beach restaurant). I needed a concealed exit in the side wall; one where Mr. Romano and I could run down the alleyway and jump into Gus's getaway car. In the end, I ended up going behind one of the thick dark curtains and knocked out the window pane (technically, Gus did the knocking-out; I didn't want to break the glass, because then Jules would notice and my secret exit would be a bust). I then had to put a chair back there for a stair; we wouldn't have time to waste once the trick was in motion (I would barely have thirty seconds), and though I could vault through the open window, I wasn't sure Mr. Romano could. This made the wall and curtain look suspicious, so I had to bring the curtains out a little and hang them with tethers. When Gus and I were finally done, the room looked normal (except a couple of feet shorter lengthwise). I'm not sure it would be noticeable at night; perhaps at daytime, but in the shadows the wall probably would look like it always had.

It was five-thirty then, and Gus and I had to book it. We cleaned up all of our gear and propped the window back loosely into place, leaving the shack looking just how we found it. We took the one bag filled with smoke bombs and put it in the Blueberry. Then, we raced out of there, fortunately not coming across anyone from the S.B.P.D. (or anywhere else for that matter). We took a leisurely dinner at a beach-side restaurant nearby and watched the sun set. Gus smiled and babbled on about how wonderful nature's paintbrush was. I smiled, glad to have company when inside I could only feel dread. I was quieter than I had ever been, I guess, because finally Gus asked, "What's eating you Shawn?"

I took a deep breath. "Jules," I said in a low voice.

Gus frowned. There was a million and one things he could say to me at this point; how the whole thing was my fault, how it served me right for lying, how he wasn't going to talk about the subject of love to me, etc. I could go on forever. Gus, to my vast surprise, did none of those things. He just sat and nodded, staring at the fading light.

I found his silence very comforting, yet very unnerving. Gus was rarely silent; he voiced his opinions constantly, as did I. Which was why we were such good friends, I suppose. We held nothing back from each other.

"What will I be without her?" I asked quietly.

Gus looked over at me, confusion etched on his face. "You'll just be you then," he stated.

I was quiet for a moment. "What if I don't want to be just me anymore?" I asked, even quieter. "Gus, she's become like half of my heart now."

Gus rolled his eyes. "We'll get her back, you'll see," Gus said certainly. "Don't forget, she loves you too."

I laughed a short, bitter, cold laugh. "She used to love me," I stated.

Gus shook his head. "No, she still loves you," he confirmed. "If she didn't love you anymore, she wouldn't hate you so much."

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, well, that's comforting!"

"What I mean is," Gus said defensively, "is that if she could care less about you, she'd just tolerate your presence. She really still loves you; if you can just get everything sorted, you'll probably have half a chance."

"Half a chance?!" I growled. "Gus, don't quit your day job to give inspirational speeches."

"I'm just trying my best!" Gus said resentfully.

I grimaced; Gus had been just trying to help. "I'm sorry," I said after a moment. "I... have no idea where my head is at these days."

Gus gave me a wry smile. "You better find it before ten tonight," he replied. "After all, I don't want to carry _your_ busted-up body to a hospital."

I laughed at that, and the two of us continued to watch the sun set. I felt happy for the first time in a while. Because no matter where I went or what would happen to me, I'd always have Gus as my best friend.

oOo

Nine o'clock rolled around. Gus and I donned our garb. Gus didn't need much; he was dressed in his normal clothes plus a mask and his hunting vest. The way we worked it out, Gus would drive the Blueberry into the parking lot next door to the Kahuna one, at the far end. It was actually a nice hiding spot; the parking lots were separated by high prickly hedges that would conceal the Blueberry from view, and they were quite long. The police wouldn't comb every one of them; they didn't have enough manpower to spread out the distance with only an anonymous tip-off. Once I got Mr. Romano out of the bust, we'd run down the alley opposite toward the beach, cutting through the other restaurant's eating areas. We'd then cut through one of the other alleys, run quickly across the street, and Mr. Romano would jump into the Blueberry. Gus would take off, while I distracted anyone following by continuing to run. My gear was a little harder to don; underneath I wore running clothes, because I planned to rip off my all-black attire as soon as the Blueberry was out of sight (if I were caught, I would pretend to be another average late-night jogger). On top of the running clothes, I donned black sweatpants, a black hoodie, and my black mask. I put my Swiss knife and my phone into the main pouch of the hoodie. I also tucked in a lighter; I'd need it to light the smoke bombs.

Nine-forty came before I was ready. Gus had already parked (we came at around eight); we'd watched as Juliet arrived on the scene with the Chief, Mr. Brown, and about six other cops. We watched them set-up the shack with listening equipment, then conceal themselves in two repair vans. Jules must have meant business; everyone snapped to every order she made. I was impressed as I watched her through my dad's binoculars from the bushes; my girl was a warlord!

Okay, maybe not so much, but still I was proud of her. "Whatever happens, sweetheart, I'm glad to have met you," I whispered. Gus tapped my shoulder; I turned and nodded to him. It was time to go.

Only I was going in. I had made that very clear to Gus. At first, he'd semi-objected, but I reiterated the fact that I'd need a get-away car. I had no doubt that he was waiting with the car already in gear, ready to go. At nine-forty, I eased out of the bushes at the far end of the parking lot, the backpack filled with smoke bombs slung across my shoulders. There were few people out this late; a summer evening would be a different story, but no one wanted to be on the beach drinking in the middle of winter. I slunk through the shadows like a shadow myself, slipping through the fronts of restaurants and crawling in places where street-lights shone harshly across the sand. Deftly, I sidled up to the side of the restaurant, where I'd popped out the window pane. I silently pulled the window out from the wall again, quietly placing it outside and propping it up against the shack wall. Then, I pulled myself into the shack, vaulting over the outside wall and landing gently on the chair. Still hidden behind the thick black curtain, I checked the time. Nine fifty-five. I took the lighter out of my pocket and tucked it into my sleeve. Next, I opened the black backpack's zipper slightly and pulled out the fuse to a smoke bomb. I then slung the pack across my shoulder; I was ready! Quietly, I eased out of the shadows and stepped into the main room.

The whole four minutes or so that went by were like torture. I didn't move, didn't even really dare to breathe. I wondered if Jules could see me, or if they were just using audio. I wondered if Raven would get the wrong idea and not come (or worse, suspect she was being double-crossed and kill off Mr. Romano). I wondered if Juliet would call the bust too soon, and _I'd_ be caught instead of the way I'd planned it. So many variations could go wrong... but just then the door opened. Raven stepped in with two goons, pushing an old man ahead of her, and I had no more time to worry.

"You Brandon's friend?" she asked by way of greeting,

"Yes," I rasped in my creepy phone-voice.

Silence.

"Do you have my goods?" she asked after a beat.

"Do you have my friend?"

Raven scowled and pushed the shaking Mr. Romano forward. It was dim inside the pizza shack; but I could just see that Raven had had a gun stuffed into the small of his back.

"Give me the goods now or I will blow his spine to bits," she ordered, her voice deadly calm.

"Let's do this my way," I said, feigning irritation. "You send that man over to me, and I'll toss you a bag of the goods."

She scowled, I heard her cock her gun. "Where are the other three bags?!"

I chucked menacingly. "Do you really think I'd bring all the bags? I have some tucked away for a little insurance purposes; you get nothing until Mr. Romano is standing next to me unharmed. I just brought one bag as a bid of good faith."

Raven's eyes narrowed, then suddenly, she aimed her gun directly at my chest.

I laughed louder, covering up my nervousness. "Shooting me won't get you your drugs," I taunted, my hacking voice sounding strange to me. "See, I'm the only one who knows where they are. Shoot Mr. Romano, I go. Shoot me, you'll never know."

"Arg!" Raven huffed, frustrated, then put her gun away. "Throw me the bag," she ordered, "and I'll send this heap of bones over."

I smiled, reached behind my back, lit the lighter I had palmed, and lit the fuse. "My pleasure," I said with a growl.

It all happened at once! I sent the bag flying through the air at Raven and Mr. Romano stumbled up to me. As soon as it was in Raven's arms, she opened it, determined to check for the drugs. Colored smoke exploded from the mouth of the bag, in great hissing and popping belches. I grabbed Mr. Romano, shoved him towards the window exit, and literally pushed him up into the chair. As he was clambering through the window, I cut the tether that held the real drugs suspended in the roof. Quick as a flash, I was through the window, and Mr. Romano and I were running through the restaurant fronts the same way I had crawled to the shack not ten minutes before. Behind us, I heard a belated shot ring out, followed by Raven's cursing and the shouts of police officers telling everyone in the shack to freeze.

I cut through the alleyway, dragging Mr. Romano behind me. The police were still dealing with the shack, but Raven was bound to set them on our trail soon. I rabbitted through the bushes, pushed Mr. Romano through the hedges and literally threw him into the Blueberry. I flashed a quick smile at Gus; he returned the grin, and slowly he rolled the car out of the parking lot. I wondered if he had kept the engine on the entire time.

I cut back through the bushes and began running down the street. I heard shouts; someone had seen me! Actually, as I ran, I recognized Buzz's voice; he was screaming at me to freeze. A shot rang out; it hit the pavement in front of me, and I yelped and dodged into yet another parking lot. I wondered how many were behind me besides Buzz; I knew I couldn't outrun Juliet on a good day, and I desperately hoped she'd stayed behind to book Raven. Actually, I was surprised at the speed I was clocking; the fear of getting caught and having everything ruined fueled me on like rocket fuel. Still, Buzz was gaining on me; I heard his footsteps mere feet away. Then, Buzz yelled something to another cop, and I grimaced; there were _two_ of them. Change of plans; I began to run straight to the highway.

It took me about a minute to get to the intersection of the beach parkway and the main road; even at ten at night it was still a fairly busy place. Good. I watched the traffic pass with my peripheral vision, looking for a hole I could run through. Buzz was behind me; suddenly, the other cop was before me! They'd flanked me! In desperation, I ran out straight into traffic.

It was a miracle I survived that stunt. Actually, I had closed my eyes, so sure that I'd be hit by a car. However, I kept running at top speed, determined to reach the other side of the road. Cars honked; some slammed on breaks, and I think once I actually vaulted myself over a trunk. However, by time I realized I was not really dead, I had reached the other side of the road. I risked a look back; Buzz and the other cop were on the other side of the highway, looking completely shocked. I grinned (even though they could not see it through my mask), waved at them, and booked it out of there.

Street after street I ran; turning every corner I could find. At one point during the evening, I ripped off my sweatshirt and sweatpants; my running clothes were soaked with sweat. I shoved all these clothes in a dumpster along with pretty much everything else except my watch, phone, and my Swiss knife, which I stuffed into the pocket of my running shorts. I took off from there, heading to a suburban area, where I planned to jog a few blocks then consequently collapse from the strain and call Gus.

"He should be done dropping off Mr. Romano at the police station," I thought to myself. "Gus can come and pick me up, and we'll go to Sonic for late night root-beer floats. What an amazing stunt we pulled off!"

I ran fast along the residential streets, giddy from my success. I had pulled off probably the greatest caper of my entire life, and Juliet had no idea I was behind it all! She'd get her badge back with the bust, the Chief would keep her job, and maybe I'd have a shot to put everything right once and for all!

Unfortunately, by this time I was not really paying attention to where I was running. It was around ten-thirty now, and there hadn't been that many cars out on the road. I simply did not see the car as I darted across another street. I have a real problem with cars, as anyone who knows me can attest. As I flew off the hood from _this_ car, my last coherent thought was that I hoped Juliet would be happy.

**Endnote: (Spoilers) **I've noticed in Psych, they always have people _almost_ getting hit by a car. They really have a thing for this; several times it happens to Shawn (like in one of the latest episodes where he virtually gets run over by a semi and is perfectly fine afterward). I have no idea what that's all about, so I decided to actually have him get hit by a car for once. There is a reason for everything, so please stay tuned!


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: **Hi all! One more chapter to go... sorry it took so long; it's the last few weeks of school, and everything has to be boarded up by the 31st of May. I am hoping to finish that story before that date, however... please review!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych, and if there is a Santa Barbara Times I don't have any affiliation with that either.

_Juliet's POV_

We arrived at the Kahuna around eight; I had wanted to get there earlier but it was extraordinarily difficult organizing a bust when Reed Brown was butting his head in and making sure everything was followed exactly by _his_ specifications. It really irritated me, and I had to bottle all that in, so by the time we finally got to the Kahuna my tone alone told everyone I was not in the mood to be toyed with. In fact, we got the whole perimeter set up in half an hour or so, bugged and with two policemen hidden yet guarding each exit. No visual cameras were set up, though. The lighting system of the building was such a strange color (kind of a bluish-green color in the eating area mixed with blue-tinted fluorescent lights inside) that the cameras couldn't pick up anything. We decided to just go with audio.

Buzz and his partner had taken the front door (hiding behind a big metal fire pit on the beach), while Sam and Rod took the back door (hiding in the hedges by the parking lot). The five of us who were left holed ourselves up in two repair vans; we parked a little further down the street so as not to cause suspicion, but I was still in sprinting range. Everyone settled down to wait, and I took a deep breath to calm my shaking nerves. The minutes ticked by so slowly. Reed Brown leered at me from the corner of the van, as if daring me to say something. Every once in a while, he would write something down and then look at me and grin. I wanted to punch him. Well, take his notebook and whack it over his head, _then_ punch him. But I just smiled ferociously back, and prayed that the drop would be real this time.

As I sat there, trying not to look at either Reed Brown or the Chief, I began to worry more. What if this didn't work? What if someone else got shot this time? What if Connie and Brandon were another false tip, or more importantly, a set-up?! There were so many ways this evening could go wrong... then I heard a small scratch pick up in the mikes.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Nine-fifty," one of the cops in the other van replied.

I frowned. "Buzz, you see anyone enter your way?"

"Negative."

"Sam?"

"Negative as well."

I frowned. "Well, what was that sound?"

"Probably rats, detective," said the Chief sternly. "Now, get ready. Ten is coming."

I waited, frozen with everyone else as the five minutes ticked by. It seemed to take forever. Then, Buzz's radio clicked once, then four times in succession.

"Raven's here with three other people," I said quietly over the radios. "Everyone, get ready. Stay down till I give the signal."

We waited for a moment that seemed to span a year, then the mikes inside the pizza shack crackled.

"You Brandon's friend?" a woman's voice came over the mike.

"Yes," came a raspy, creepy voice that sounded oddly... familiar. As if I'd heard it before somewhere... perhaps in a dream. I frowned as the voices stopped for a moment. When did Brandon's drug dealer friend come into the restaurant? Did he come in along with Raven? It didn't sound very plausible... so how _did_ this raspy-voiced person enter the shack? Were there five people there now?

"Do you have my goods?" asked Raven.

"Do you have my friend?" the raspy-person responded.

There was a shove-like sound, then a gasp.

"Give me the goods now or I will blow his spine to bits," Raven ordered, her voice deadly calm.

I looked at the Chief; should I make the call? Silently, the Chief shook her head. "Wait for the drop," she mouthed.

"Let's do this my way," Raspy-voice continued. "You send that man over to me, and I'll toss you a bag of the goods."

I heard Raven cock her gun. "Where are the other three bags?!"

Raspy-voice chucked menacingly. "Do you really think I'd bring all the bags? I have some tucked away for a little insurance purposes; you get nothing until Mr. Romano is standing next to me unharmed. I just brought one bag as a bid of good faith."

There was a pause, and I wondered wildly what was going on. It took all my willpower not to send the order; I felt like I was going to explode with the effort.

Raspy-voice let out a careless laugh. Whoever this guy was, he had nerves of steel! "Shooting me won't get you your drugs," he taunted. "See, I'm the only one who knows where they are. Shoot Mr. Romano, I go. Shoot me, you'll never know."

"Arg!" Raven huffed in frustration, then I heard her shift her weight and holster her weapon. "Throw me the bag," she ordered, "and I'll send this heap of bones over."

"My pleasure," said Raspy-voice with a growl.

Then, all hell broke loose! Over the mikes came a deafening fizzing and popping... fireworks?! There was a ton of shouting, then a shot, and I yelled over the mikes, "Move in! All units, MOVE IN!"

I then jumped out of the van and booked it over to the shack. Buzz and his partner flanked the door, weapons drawn, but Buzz looked confused.

"A man appeared to get away," he reported as I joined him. "Well, looked like two men actually. Though I don't know how they got out; it looked like they just jumped through the side of the building! "

I nodded, determined to solve that mystery later. "You and your partner see if you can chase them down," I ordered. "I'll tackle things in here."

Buzz nodded assent, and he and his partner went bolting off into the night.

"Raven?" I shouted in through the doorway. "Raven, there is no way out of this! We have all exits covered. Surrender now, or we _will _shoot you."

The cursing and howls of anger subsided, and there was a deadly calm. "Raven?!" I prompted. "I haven't got all night!"

"All right!" Raven yelled, and suddenly three guns- with safety on- came hurtling through the door. "There, those are our guns!" she yelled. "We're unarmed, don't shoot!"

"Stay where you are; get down on the ground," I yelled through the doorway. "Face down!"

I heard shuffling from inside as they hurried to comply, then all was still. I took a deep breath, held my gun out firmly, and stepped into the restaurant. It was smoky; the fireworks appeared to be a bag full of colored smoke bombs. The lights from inside the pizza shack glinted weirdly through the smoke, and everything had an unreal, distended quality. I looked at the three people laying on the ground. There were two random drug mules, and Raven was in the center, watching me with cold eyes. I walked up to her, gun pointed at her head, when an amazing and frankly unexplainable thing happened. I heard Carlton's voice scream out (or maybe it was just in my mind), "Be careful O'Hara, she has a gun!"

At the same time, Raven had reached her arm around behind her back, and was drawing out another gun. She drew it fast; I'd never seen _anyone_ draw that fast. She drew faster than even Carlton! As I heard Carlton's voice, instinct took in, and I took the shot. Raven's arm thumped to the ground as my bullet hit her. For one moment, she looked up at me, and her eyes met my eyes. There was such coldness there; her eyes were empty, as if hatred had burned away every other emotion. Since the whole Yin and Yang saga, I'd never seen eyes that cold. It made me shiver down in my core. Then, Raven's eyes slid shut, and her body stilled.

I was suddenly aware that I was in the middle of a bust, and I snapped back into reality. The pizza shack was filled with policemen. Sam and Rod rushed in and cuffed the two other mules, and a couple of other cops were setting up a perimeter already. I walked around Raven's body and looked down at the five bags. One bag was filled with smoke bombs, the other four were filled to the brim with drugs.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking up to the ceiling; it had been my lucky night! Then I turned around and got down to business.

oOo

Three hours later, I was sitting back in my desk at police headquarters. The rest of the bust went smoothly; we'd cordoned off a perimeter, gotten the two thugs booked, sent Raven off to a thrilled Woody (our coroner), and sent the four bags of drugs to the evidence lockers. The only snag we hit was Buzz and his partner not catching their man; I say man in the singular because, not forty minutes after the bust, one of the men (Connie Romano's dad) turned himself in at the police station. That just left Brandon's "friend," Mr. Raspy-voice, out there at large. I doubted we'd catch him; he was wearing a mask and his general build fit half the people in Santa Barbara. He must have owed some debt to Brandon though, to be willing to pull off a stunt like that. When we searched the pizza place, we discovered how he had entered the premises; he'd re-engineered one window to make it easy to remove and had tethered the curtains out about a foot on every window along one side of the room, so that there looked like nothing had been changed. It was a fairly well thought-out and designed plan; it must have taken some time to put together.

Reed Brown was practically hiding now that the bust was over. It had gone so well that he didn't have a leg to stand on now; in fact, he was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Though public opinion had protected Shawn from any disciplinary action, the Chief and I just pulled off a bust that would meet our quota for confiscated drugs for the year. The Chief also had information from Connie and Brandon about several other gang members; our department would be very busy these next couple of months. We were running perfectly, like a well-oiled machine, and Reed Brown knew it. There was no way he was taking my badge now!

"O'Hara," the Chief called from her office. "Did you talk to any reporters yet?"

"No," I replied. "Why?"

The Chief came walking in, looking confused and mildly annoyed. "I was sent a complimentary copy of this morning's paper from the _Santa Barbara Times_. Listen to what is written: _"Today, the entire city of Santa Barbara stands in awe of a force so powerful, so courageous, and so honorable that it tops every other force of its kind throughout the country. We are talking about the Santa Barbara Police Department, who last night orchestrated a drug bust that put several gang members in custody and took several pounds of Heroin off the streets. Under the supervision of Police Chief Karen Vick, Detective O'Hara organized the bust, and is responsible for its great success. It is a fitting honor for her, as Detective O'Hara brought to justice the very same criminal organization that was responsible for wounding her partner, Detective Lassiter, last week. Not all the honor rests on Detective O'Hara, though. Last week, Detective Lassiter willingly put himself in the line of fire to save his partner. Such dedication reflects the spirit of the entire Police Department, and I would encourage my fellow citizens to congratulate and thank a police officer today. They are the true heroes and heroines who make this city stand, and I am proud to be a chronicler of their achievements. What else can we say but, "Thank you, Santa Barbara Police Department. We wish you all the best."_

I finished reading the paper, then stared at the Chief. "This is the most favorable review I think we've ever gotten," I stated quietly.

The Chief nodded in assent. "Well, someone had to have given this information out. Perhaps there was a reporter further down on the beach; they have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. At any rate, this is very providential for us; the press can help innumerably during our auditing."

I grinned an evil grin. "Have you shown Reed Brown a copy of that yet?" I asked.

The Chief smiled. "Showed it to him?! Why, I gave him an autographed copy!"

The two of us burst out laughing; I attributed our high spirits not only to the fact that both our jobs were now safe, but also that it was one o'clock in the morning. I felt dog tired; I just wanted to go home and sleep. I had so much paperwork to complete, though. Every time we have to kill someone in the line of duty, the amount of paperwork you have to complete is atrocious. I knew I'd be spending the next two days alone on reports, and I was not looking forward to it.

"Why don't you go home, O'Hara," the Chief said, reading my mind. "The reports will still be here when you come in tomorrow."

I smiled. "Yes, that's true. I'm just happy that I'll still be here tomorrow... unless Reed Brown still wants to pull my badge."

The Chief shook her head. "I doubt Reed Brown wants to do anything now," she pointed out. "We took all his ammo away."

I grinned and yawned; going home sounded like a good idea. "I'll be in tomorrow at nine," I stated, heading towards the doors.

"Make it noon," the Chief shout after me. "After all, you need a good night's sleep. If you can't see clearly to fill out those forms, they'll have to be done all over again."

I looked back at the Chief and smiled. "Thanks for everything," I said quietly. Then, feeling freer than I'd ever felt before, I walked out the door of the precinct and headed to my car.

Then, my phone rang.

oOo

"Hello?" I answered, trying to stifle another yawn.

"Ms O'Hara? This is Dr. Applegate from Mercy Hospital."

My heart dropped to my feet; that's where Carlton was! "Is Detective Lassiter alright?!" I asked quickly, trying not to panic. After everything had gone so great, would it all just fall apart again?

"Um, last I heard of Detective Lassiter is doing well. He's annoying his nurses... but that's not the reason I'm calling. I'm calling on behalf of a Shawn Spencer; you and a man named Burton Guster were on his call list."

"Oh my, what happened?" I asked frantically.

"Well, Mr. Spencer was hit by a car late this evening while he was out for a jog. He's going to be okay 'mam, but his left leg's been fractured in three places, and he has a mild concussion. We operated on his leg; it needed a few pins, and we have put it into a full cast. He'll probably need to use a leg brace after it is healed for some time; his injury was not simple. If you could come down, we need someone to fill out the forms for him."

I frowned in confusion. "Is Burton Guster not there?"

"No, I haven't been able to contact Mr. Guster yet. I left a voicemail on his phone, though."

I nodded, though the doctor couldn't see me, and replied, "I'll be right down." Then, a nagging thought crept up the back of my mind, and I asked, "Please, do you know where he got hit by the car?"

The doctor sighed, then said, "The report states he got hit at the corner of Main and Tangerine."

_Maine and Tangerine? _Those were residential streets... about five blocks away from the beach where everything had gone down tonight. What was Shawn doing out there jogging... the man never willfully exercised before in his entire life, having him out jogging was absurd...

"Is that all 'mam?" the doctor asked. "I really have to get back to my other patients."

"Sorry," I stated. "What room will he be in?"

There was a pause. "Does Mr. Spencer know Detective Lassiter?"

I smiled a wry smile. "Yep, he sure does."

"He'll be in the Detective's room then. Those rooms are meant to be double, and we're running out of space as it is."

"Thank you," I said as I got into my car and strapped the belt in. "I'll be there soon."

As I hung up, I felt my hands shake. Shawn... it was SHAWN! Shawn had set the entire thing up! Everything from Connie and Brandon coming in, to the meeting with Raven... even to the newspaper article in the times. All of this, us getting our badges back, the police chief getting reinstated... all of it was set up by Shawn.

I sat there for ten minutes in the parking lot, just staring as my brain worked out how Shawn had done it all. I was completely at a loss for words; Shawn had somehow, someway worked everything out to the nth degree, and it all ended well. Perfectly well! I had no idea how to feel about this; this was a situation you'd only see in a movie or T.V. show. What was I to say about this; how was I even to begin to understand how Shawn made this all work? He was either a genius... or he really did have powers. Finally, I snapped myself out of my daze, started the engine, and headed off towards the hospital. I had some serious talking to do with Shawn... as well as _more_ paperwork.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **Wow, it's finally done! I was so excited to write this chapter! Shules fans will be happy; I tried to stay close to the characters, but as you know this is what I wish would happen, so it would never be exactly like on TV. But if wishes were fishes... Also, the conversation between Jules and Shawn is a mutated form of the first time they met in "Spellingg Bee." I actually looked up episode transcripts because I'm a geek. Enjoy, and thanks so much for reading!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine la.

_Shawn's POV_

_What will I be without her?_

_What if I don't want to be just me anymore?_

_Gus, she's become like half of my heart now._

The thoughts swirled around my brain as I fought for some sort of coherence. The whole world was wavery and dark, and I felt very light. And cold.

"Am I dead?" I thought, frightened for a moment. Then, I heard the tell-tale beeps of a heart machine, and I knew I was in the hospital. I groaned, that was even worse than death.

I opened my eyes, fully expecting to see Gus or an angry-looking father staring down at me. Instead, I beheld an angel. Juliet was sitting by my bedside, curled up and sleeping in a hospital chair. It was early morning; I could tell by the way the sun slanted through the window. It lit up her blonde hair like a golden halo, and my breath caught in my throat.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered quietly.

"It's the beautiful ones you've got to watch out for." Gus's voice made me jump; I turned my head the other way and met his worried face. Beyond him, Lassie jerked about in another restless dream. Great, just great. I was stuck in the hospital with Lassie.

"What happened?" I asked warily.

"You apparently got run over by a car," Gus whispered back. "Shawn, I was driving around for hours when I finally got a call that you were in the hospital. Of course, I was driving then, so I couldn't pick up the phone. Do you know how terrible it is to get a hospital voicemail?!"

I rolled my eyes; Gus's voice was getting incrementally louder, and I didn't want him to wake Jules until I had found a few more things out. "Mr. Romano?"

Gus sighed. "He's fine; I dropped him off as soon as I could, then went out looking for you."

I nodded, then asked another question. "Why is Juliet here?"

"She's on your call list, dummy."

"Oh. Does she... does she know?"

Gus frowned. "I don't know; it was weird, though," he whispered quietly. "She was here when I got here, but she barely acknowledged my presence. She was making calls most of the night; I'm not really sure what's going on but I don't trust her."

I cringed. It sounded bad all around. "Whatever happens, buddy, I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

Gus grinned (it was his good-friend grin that said it really didn't matter because we are friends) and said back to me, "It's alright. There's no need to be sorry."

"Who's sorry?" came the distant voice of Juliet.

Gus gulped. "I'm... um... gonna go get some coffee," he stated. Then, he darted towards the door; it was the fastest I'd ever seen him run.

"Coward!" I called out, then I turned my head towards Juliet. "We've got to stop meeting like this," I quipped.

Juliet smiled wanly; it was the first genuine smile I'd seen on her face in a while. Her blue eyes met mine; I felt like my heart was going to stop beating. I tried to hold her gaze but couldn't; finally, I looked over her shoulder towards the wall.

"You know," I said, unnerved by the silent way she kept... gazing at me (at least I'd _like_ to think of it as gazing), "You didn't have to curl up in a hospital chair. I mean, I have a bed, and I wouldn't have minded if you wanted to stretch your legs out..."

"I've become quite proficient at sleeping in hospital chairs," Juliet stated mildly. "It seems I've spent a lot of time doing it lately."

"Well, I suppose one does acquire the technique then..." I floundered, searching for more words to say. I found none.

"What happened to me?" I asked finally, unwilling to sit in silence any longer.

"You have a mild concussion, though it is pretty much gone by now, and your leg got broken in three places... it was pretty bad, can you not feel that cast? It goes up the entire length of your leg."

I frowned; I had been lying down, and hadn't seen my leg yet. Nor could I really feel anything at this point. "Must be some good drugs I'm on," I said pensively, "if it's broken in three places and I can't even feel it."

Juliet shrugged. "You'll feel it soon enough; the doctor is weaning you off of your surgery meds today and tomorrow. What I want to know, though, is when did you take up jogging Shawn?"

I felt the world crash down. Did she know? Well, even if she did, I'd try to make a valiant attempt at an explanation. "Just last night; I was trying to loose a few extra pounds."

"Hm," Juliet said quietly. "I would have pictured you more as an elliptical user, not a jogger. Must have been some pretty intense jogging to distract you from watching the road."

I nodded wearily. "It was intense," I said quietly.

"Shawn..." something in her eyes pleaded with me.

I took a deep breath. "The truth?"

"The truth. _Please_."

I winced; I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff. If I told her everything... then there went the investigation. There went Juliet's and Lassiter's badges. There went the Chief... and there Gus and I went to jail. But it I told another lie... I'd loose Juliet forever. Period. End of story. Besides, Juliet was a good detective. She'd figure this out soon, if she hadn't already. All she needed to know was that I was in the area of the drug bust, and she'd piece two and two together. And strangely, above all that, there was this one longing thought that cried out, _"I don't want to live a lie anymore. I want to be free!" _I took a deep breath, locked eyes with Juliet... and told her the _whole_ story. I started with the first drug bust, and just went on from there. I explained the entire week to her; even the parts that had nothing to do with the drug bust, even the parts about the shack in the woods and my past... I left _nothing_ out. I told her more than I'd ever told another living soul, even Gus.

Finally, I came to the end of my story. I felt numb, yet at the same time terrified. What would Juliet think of me? Would she reject me forever? Who'd want a jerk as messed up as me? Juliet just stared, her face unreadable. What was going on in that mind of hers?

"Do you still like pineapple?" she asked.

That was the _last _thing on earth I expected her to say. "Yes... it's my favorite food in the world," I answered cautiously.

Jules reached under her chair and pulled out a small cooler bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a pineapple juice. She then pulled out a straw, and with the bearing of a master magician she proceeded to make a crawling snake with the straw wrapper on my bedside table. When it was done, she poked the straw through the cup and handed it to me.

"Can I get a name to work with?" she asked.

"Shawn..." I replied, still not sure where this was going.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you Shawn." Then, in a much lower-pitched voice, she said, "It's nice to meet you too, Juliet. I'm sorry we have to meet under such circumstances; lunch is on me when I get out. So, what do you do for a living?"

It dawned on me then, but I just smiled and watched Juliet with wonder in my eyes. Juliet grinned at me, and replied in her own voice, "Well, I'm a detective working for the S.B.P.D. And what do you do, Shawn?"

"I also work with the S.B.P.D. as a Private Consulting Detective," Juliet continued in her low voice. "Funny we haven't met before. Hey, I like your jacket, I like it..."

"Okay, can I stop you here?" I laughed. "First off, in your portrayal of me, I sound like I'm an eight-grade jock hyped up on steroids."

Juliet grinned. "Well, in my portrayal of you, you only have an eighth grade education."

I reached out and caught Juliet's hand. "You never forgot our first conversation," I said happily. "You remembered it almost to the exact wording."

"Apparently, you didn't forget either," Juliet stated, squeezing my hand back.

I was silent for a moment, reveling in the simple touch of her hand. "What did I do right this time?" I asked after a long moment. "Technically, I still lied to you about the bust, and though it all came off okay there was a big chance that it wouldn't."

Juliet leaned closer, the intensity in her eyes drawing me in. "It was the _way _you did it, Shawn. This last time, you only really put yourself in danger (Mr. Romano was already in over his head, so he doesn't count). _This_ time, you set everything right and gave all, one hundred percent of the credit to the police force. You took none of the credit yourself. You changed from who you were... and made it clear so I could see the change. Then, when I asked you for the truth just now... you gave it all to me. Everything I wanted to know; I could see you kept nothing back. That's all I wanted in the first place, Shawn. I wanted to be your other half... without the secrets as a wall between us."

I smiled; Jules was so lovely, inside and out. "No more walls," I said quietly.

"No more walls," she agreed.

"Are we good?" I asked meekly.

Juliet leaned in then and kissed me. I opened my eyes wider in surprise, then she pulled herself back and stated, "We are _so_ good."

After a moment, her cell phone rang. She took the call with her back to me, and I immediately felt suspicious. Is this what Gus had been talking about? Where was Gus, anyway? His excursion had turned into an awfully long coffee break.

Jules finished up with her call and turned back around. Mischief practically oozed out of her; I wondered what was up. "The Chief and Mr. Reed Brown are coming in right now," she stated. "Just lie back and let me and the Chief do all the talking, and you'll see what is going on."

oOo

Five minutes later, Lassie's and my hospital room was literally crowded with people. There were the two of us, then Jules, the Chief, Gus, Mr. Brown, and apparently my father was in on this too... whatever it was. Lassiter had woken with all the noise, but was remaining his usual sullen self. He didn't seem too thrilled when I smiled my brightest smile and called out, "Good morning!", but then he never seemed happy about anything except guns and the Civil War.

"Detective Lassiter, Mr. Spencer, glad to see you are both awake and on the road to recovery," the Chief stated kindly. She then looked at Mr. Brown with a demeaning air, as if considering a lesser being. Mr. Brown looked as though he wished he could be anywhere else.

"I'll make this brief, as you are both still recovering and need your rest" the Chief stated. "Mr. Spencer, the department owes you a debt of gratitude for what you did for us on our 'undercover mission.' You see, Mr. Brown, sometimes we use our liaisons to the police department in very unique ways; Mr. Spencer, in pretending to be a psychic on the streets, gained the confidence of our two informants Brandon and Connie (who, by the way, we are offering full amnesty to), which was something we as uniformed cops never would have been able to do. Once he had their trust, he turned them over to us, and we were able to track down the rest of the drugs. He also provided Detective O'Hara with the correct time and place of the drug drop, which turned out to be of _immeasurable_ value. As Henry Spencer can tell you, Mr. Spencer has been of value on several cases. You see, having someone pretending to be psychic on the streets actually gives you a lot of mobility; people generally trust Mr. Spencer more and come forward on more things than they usually would have. Working in tandem, our dynamic police force (made up of both uniformed and private consultants) is able to put away hundreds more of criminals a year, more than any other city can boast."

Mr. Brown frowned and looked as if he wished he could melt into the floor. "I wish you would have told me of your undercover mission... I could've closed this case up in a day and been back in Palm Springs playing golf."

"We couldn't be sure you really were who you said you were," my dad quipped. "After all, high-ranking drug families have access to state files and could have fudged your credentials. It's been done before."

"For everything to work out perfectly, you had to be kept in the dark. There was just no other way," the Chief intoned.

Reed Brown sneered in annoyance. "Well, not _everything_ ended up perfectly; you did have an officer get shot!"

"And I'd get shot again if I had to," Lassie snapped back. "You don't hear _me _calling in a complaint; I'd give my life in the line of duty."

Reed Brown raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if pleading, then said (almost in desperation), "Well, what about Mr. Spencer Junior. How did _he_ end up in here?"

I frowned and was about to say something when Juliet said sweetly, "Oh, this is a totally unrelated case. He was injured while going for his jog last night; he forgot to look both ways across the street."

"Something you failed to teach me," I stated, looking mock-accusingly at my father.

Amusement tempered with some irritation danced in his eyes. "Well, hopefully this experience has taught you better than I did."

Reed Brown shook his head and said, "Well, I'll be going back to I.A. headquarters and will be writing up my report... but you people could have saved me a lot of trouble if you had just let me in on everything at the very beginning. Next time, don't mess around with the investigation officer; he might not be as forgiving as I am."

"And our report?" the Chief pressed, looking intently at Reed.

"It appears to me that the Santa Barbara Police Department is working at standard operating procedure. No recommendations will be made, except to be more open with working with the I.A."

"Note taken," the Chief stated warmly. "Now, don't you have a plane to catch?"

Reed Brown rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm going already."

"Come on, I'll drive you," the Chief answered, practically shooing Mr. Brown out the door. Right as she crossed the threshold, however, she turned back towards me and gave me a wink. Then, they were gone.

"Did the Chief just do what I think she did... for me?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, she did son, but don't make that a habit for her," my father replied. "You are still going to take the private investigator test and become a liaison that way; we're not risking anything like this again."

"You got that right," Gus stated from the corner, tired of being ignored. I smiled at him and held my fist up for a fist bump. He bumped back, and we grinned in triumph. Juliet sat by my side, her smile lighting up her face like a floodlight. Even my father looked happy, though I'd just fulfilled his worst nightmare... again.

"You did good, son," my dad stated, and he ruffled up my hair with his hand. I was mildly embarrassed, but actually now that the giant heavy weight was off my heart, it felt kind of nice. My dad cared about me... and finally could show it. And I realized, with some small surprise, that I cared back as well.

"What the hell is going on?" a really confused Lassiter asked next.

The room broke out into giggles, and Juliet said, "Oh, I forgot; I haven't told you much yet."

"Told me much?! What's been going on, you didn't tell me anything at all!"

Jules smiled craftily. "Well, you were really loopy when I explained everything to you last... what do you last remember?"

"You pounding my back... it hurt!"

I blinked. "Lassie, I resent your tone towards my girl over here."

Gus smiled, then said, "Dude, I'm outta here. I need some shut eye!"

"Me too," my dad stated. "See you later son. Goodbye, Lassie!"

Lassie looked at my dad in shock while he and Gus strode away. "He just called me Lassie," he said astounded. "Oh gosh, that awful nickname is sticking!"

"It fits you," I said, grinning. "After all, you are as faithful as a dog... you saved the love of my life's life."

Lassiter scowled. "That being said... someone please explain to me _what is going on here!_"

Juliet smiled and moved her chair so she was sitting in between us. "Get comfortable; it's a long story. It began in a pizza shack with one bold woman who would do anything for her father... and one brave man who turned his life around for the one he loved."

oOo

Juliet's story took the better part of the day. It wasn't long before she was interrupted by hospital staff coming around to do morning duties, and so Lassie and I kind of listened to it in parts. It was amazing though to hear the events from her perspective; normally, she was so no-nonsense (and I was all nonsense), that to hear her loosen up and tell a story, not just the facts, was wonderful. She weaved in _everyone's_ role, from Gus's role in helping hold down the fort to my role in the drug bust, to the Chief's role in beating Reed Brown. She even wove in Lassiter being shot, and she did it so well (highlighting his heroism) that I thought Lassiter would burst with pride. I could see it cost Jules something to keep her voice so steady; there were tears in her eyes, but she held herself together with a composure that befitted a diplomat, and the story went on. By the time she finished, it was the end of the day. Lassiter was passed out, and I was smiling contentedly at the love of my life, pondering how the events had panned out.

"So, where do we go from here?" I asked curiously.

Juliet mock gasped. "So serious a question, Shawn!" she laughed. "Not very much like you, I'm afraid."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll be snarky like Dr. McCoy in Star Wars if it pleases you... what?"

Jules's eyes were wide as saucers. "Shawn, don't _ever_ mix up Star Trek and Star Wars!" she cried in mock dismay. "I mean it! It's a dangerous thing to do!"

I grinned at this carefree side to my gal. "Really, like you would know the difference," I griped.

"I'll have you know I grew up with Star Trek, so-to-speak," Juliet retorted. Then, her goofy mask fell away, and she was all serious. "Promise me Shawn, that you will never do anything that stupid again, okay? Promise me that you'll never keep a secret from me again either... because I don't think I can handle going through this again. Promise me?"

I looked into those eyes, and found the other half of myself in them. I knew then that this was a promise I _could, _and more importantly _would_ keep. "I promise," I stated sincerely. "Unless... it is a gift."

Jules sighed.

"Or a surprise trip..."

Jules rolled her eyes.

"Or a special date..."

Jules smacked me gently on the head.

"Ow... okay. I honestly promise, Jules."

She smiled at me. "Seal it with a kiss," she dared.

I reached out, picked up her hands, and kissed her palms. "I seal it."

We sat for a moment in silence as the hospital room darkened around us; the night light-settings were on.

"We make a great team," I stated enthusiastically. "I mean really, who else could have taken down a couple of gangs in a week? In fact, when I get my P.I. degree... certificate... thing, you and I should be partners."

"Don't tell Lassiter that; he'll beat you to a pulp if you try to steal me away. You know I'm one of the only people who keep him sane."

"Don't tell Lassiter? Isn't that like keeping a secret, Jules? You know, I just promised you..."

I felt Jules smack me again, lightly on the arm. I grinned; the future looked pretty good. Not that I'd know for sure, because I wasn't really psychic... but of course now everyone knew! I didn't have to pretend anymore... and because of that, I was now finally _free_.

_The End_


End file.
